


Waiting to Be Found

by chvystiel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Kissing, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Panic Attacks, Past Torture, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Recovery, Slow Burn, Smut, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7912510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chvystiel/pseuds/chvystiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is shot on a mission and the bullet is manufactured to inject a serum which reverses the effects of Erskine's serum. Steve becomes how he was before, chronic illnesses and all. When the serum takes effect, Steve is able to help Bucky by reminding him of the past and helping him ease into the future towards recovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for the Stucky Big Bang 2016 which I was incredibly honoured to have participated in. The artwork associated with this fic was created by the wonderful theoneandonlywisewoman on Tumblr, which you can see here: www.theoneandonlywisewoman.tumblr.com/post/149182557066/my-art-piece-for-waiting-to-be-found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He said 'Bucky' and suddenly I was that 16-year-old boy from Brooklyn again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic if for the Stucky Big Bang 2016! The accompanied artwork was done by theoneandonlywisewoman on Tumblr. They were so wonderful to work with an put so much effort into their art and I'm so grateful that they cared so much about my fic. 
> 
> Link to art is at the end of the chapter :)

It is Steve Roger's first mission since the helicarrier incident a little over a week ago. His first day back on the job since his once best friend had beaten him almost to death. They'd found Bucky soon after, or rather, Bucky had found them. Steve had pleaded that Bucky not be taken away and put back in a cage, even though he wasn't sure himself if Bucky was still a possible threat. Reluctantly, Fury had agreed to put Bucky into the psychiatric facility that would still be heavily guarded. It was a good compromise. Now, once again, Steve finds himself in a similar state--nearly dead and barely alive. This wasn't as bad as last time, and he'd survived that. He'd be okay in a week again. Probably. Except then Sam would proceed to kill him for almost dying twice in the short span of two weeks. Steve laughs a little at that before blacking out.

Steve wakes to doctors and nurses shouting and running around under the bright fluorescent lights. They are all yelling about the bleeding and gurney-ridden Captain America. The hall to emergency smells sterile like bleach, and it makes Steve gag. The motion shoots more pain through his chest, where he vaguely remembers the bullets piercing his uniform. Natasha is jogging beside the gurney and she is saying something that Steve can't make out. Everything feels foggy, black dots peppering his vision as his breathing becomes more labored and wet. He watches, bleary-eyed, as Natasha bends down and places a soft kiss on his forehead before the doctors put him under.  

 

***

 

Steve feels like he's underwater. Someone is talking--maybe more than one person, though it is hard to tell. The voices sound the same- slowed down and heavy. Steve's body feels heavy too as he tries to lift his fingers and then his eyelids. Finally, he is able to open his eyes and he blinks a few times, slowly clearing some of the haze from his head. He is lying in a hospital bed in a brightly lit room with an IV poking out of his arm. The soft beeps of medical equipment around him help to bring his still-swimming head into the present.

Steve turns his head to the side and notices Natasha, patiently sitting beside him as she flips through a magazine. This might have been the most relaxed Steve has ever seen her. He knows her better than that, though. He knows she isn't really calmly reading but that she's trying to focus on the sound of his heartbeat through the beeps of the monitor and the soft and steady in and out of his breaths. Steve shifts a little uncomfortably in his bed and the pain that blooms in his chest speeds up his heartbeat momentarily. Natasha glances at him from her seat at the sound of Steve shifting and crumpling the paper underneath him. Her mouth thins when she notices the discomfort on Steve's face.

"Hey there," she says, leaning forward and placing her hand next to his.

"Nat," Steve croaks.

"Are you ok, Steve?" she asks.

Steve nods, "I'm alive."

She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Do you remember what happened?"

Steve pauses and thinks for a second; he remembers getting a mission from Fury. He and Natasha had gone to the Netherlands; it was a simple mission, just to replace a few bugs in a warehouse that was suspected of dealing arms illegally. The intel had been a little vague, so they both packed on enough weapons to make it out all right if things went south and there were more guards than they anticipated. Things had turned bad when Steve had stumbled upon a control room and delayed a few minutes more than he should have. A group of guards had ambushed him but he had managed to make it out of the room before the next group came running down the hallway. Natasha met him in the East section of the building and they fought their way outside of the building, trying to maintain hand-to-hand combat to prevent the thugs from drawing their guns. She had escaped fine, save for a couple bruised ribs, but Steve had missed blocking a couple of bullets with his shield. Damn, he had been out of practice. All he remembered after that was pain and Nat dragging him into a rescue helicopter. Steve winces at the fragmented memories. "Well,  by the time we got you to a hospital, your body had already started healing, but..." Natasha trails off.

"But?" Steve asks.

"But..." she glances down at his chest that is wrapped in layers of bandages. "The bullets don’t seem to be healing as rapidly this time, and you had lost so much blood already-"

"You know I'm not invincible," Steve jokes, noticing the small crease forming between Natasha's eyebrows.

"I knew there was something really wrong when you started screaming," she says, something flashing in her eyes that Steve can't quite identify. "You wouldn't stop, even after the bullets were taken out and the doctors managed to slow the bleeding."

"Sorry," Steve mumbles, feeling guilty about causing his friend so much grief.

Natasha grins reassuringly then, but it looks more like a grimace than a smile. "Don't be sorry; you have nothing to be sorry about." Steve can tell from the way she looking at him that she really means it. "I'm going to go get the doctor," she says and stands up.

Steve nods. When Natasha leaves, he fumbles for the bed controller under the blankets that are covering his legs. He presses a button and the upper half of the bed tilts upward until he's sitting up. Sitting up at that angle is a little painful, but lying down like he had been only reminds him of waking up in the ice after the first time, and that was something he tried not to think too much about.

Just then, a doctor walks into the room. She has her brown hair tied up in a loose ponytail, like it had been hanging down before and she'd hastily thrown it up. Her eyes are tired, the purple bags under them giving away how little sleep she was getting. The name tag on her neatly pressed white jacket reads 'Dr. Avery’.

"Hello, Mr. Rogers," says Dr. Avery. “I didn’t think I’d see you back here so soon.” She smiles as she places a small folder on the table next to Steve. She keeps the pen in between her fingers and fiddles with it as she takes in Steve's current state. Natasha follows behind her a few seconds afterwards and sits down in the seat she was in previously.

"Hi," says Steve. “I didn’t expect to be back here so soon. It’s nice to see you,  Dr. Avery swivels on her stool towards the counter that's pressed up against the wall. The shelves above are stocked with all sorts of medical supplies like gauze and needles. The computer screen underneath the shelves illuminates when she moves the mouse, and Steve sees the image of an X-Ray, presumably of his chest cavity, appear on the screen.

"We have quite a lot to talk about, Mr. Rogers," says Dr. Avery. "But first-" She sits down on a rolling stool and glides over to him. "Any pain?"

Steve sways in his bed and winces when he bends a little too far forward. "Yeah, somewhat." Dr. Avery switches to a different page on her computer and types Steve's words as he speaks. "Mostly where I guess I got shot, but there's some duller pain in my legs joints too."

"Probably because you're a fossil," Natasha says under her breath.

Steve looks at her with mock annoyance. "Rude." Natasha shrugs.

"And what do you remember?" Dr. Avery says, interrupting their banter.

"Getting ambushed and some fighting, but after the helicopter, everything goes blank," says Steve. He remembers what Natasha had said earlier. "I screamed."

"So Ms. Romanoff tells me. Do you remember any of the screaming?" Dr. Avery asks, keyboard clacking under her fingertips. Steve shakes his head no.

"As I'm sure you're already aware, the bullets are my main concern now, besides your health, of course," she says. "Those bullets should have never been able to pierce your uniform, Mr. Rogers, let alone prevent the serum from healing you as quickly as it should."

"What are you saying?" Natasha asks for Steve.

Dr. Avery pauses and glances between the two of them with concerned eyes. Her mouth opens slightly like she is going to say something, but then her gaze returns to the computer and the X-Ray of Steve's chest, and she sighs. "I'm saying that this should be brought to a higher authority's attention."

"Fury," says Natasha at the same time Steve thinks the name.

"Exactly," says Dr. Avery.

After the doctor calls Fury, it takes him only four minutes to make it down to Medical. He charges into the room, dressed in his "I'm hiding because people think I'm dead" civilian casual wear, comprised of sunglasses and a hoodie underneath a cargo jacket. It is still strange for Steve to see him like that, instead of his usual long leather jacket and eye patch. Nonetheless, Fury demands the same amount of respect as he always has.

"Afternoon, Dr. Avery," Fury says.  "Captain, Romanoff." He nods in their direction.

"Good afternoon," says Dr. Avery. "About the Captain: I'm afraid any near-future missions for Mr. Rogers will have to be postponed."

"What?" Steve interrupts. "I have to be out there; I _need_ to be out there."

Dr. Avery gives Steve a sympathetic look and says, "I'm sorry, Mr. Rogers. I am here to ensure your safety so you can complete missions in the future, and if that means holding you back for now, I will not hesitate to do so."

Steve deflates, falling back onto his bed,and nods. "Thank you. I know you’re doing your best."

"What is the reason for the Captain’s inability to re-enter the field?" Fury asks, crossing his arms impatiently.

"The two bullets that somehow managed to penetrate Mr. Rogers’ otherwise bullet-proof uniform-" Dr. Avery points at the X-Ray on the computer screen, "Are here and here.

Two sharp pains run across Steve's chest as he stares at the images, vaguely remembering the warm blood that stained his uniform when Natasha had half-carried him to the helicopter.

"Upon further investigation, I realized that these bullets are unlike anything I've ever seen," Dr. Avery continues. "Without any actual proof or investigations done, I currently believe that they were each carrying a capsule filled with a serum similar to the one Mr. Howard Stark gave Mr. Rogers seventy years ago."

"Do we know the effects of the serum released?" Fury asks, straight to the point.

"I've sent all the information gathered to Mr. Stark and Mr. Banner," says Dr. Avery. “They are working on it now.”

"Thank you, Dr. Avery." Fury turns to Steve and Natasha, hands on his hips, and Steve thanks Dr. Avery as she leaves the room. "Romanoff, take Captain Rogers to see Stark and Banner."

Natasha nods and subconsciously squeezes Steve's hand. He's nervous from the possibly dangerous serum coursing through his veins, so it helps.

"I'll get a debrief on the situation later from them," says Fury. He makes his way to the door and thanks the doctor before he leaves.

There is an uncertain silence after Fury exits the hospital room. Steve isn't easily scared; after all, he'd been through many impossible situations, and even before the war, Steve was always ready to take on the bigger problems, even if that meant setting a man straight who was three heads taller than him. Natasha speaks first, breaking his train of thought, "I'll get you a wheelchair, Steve."

"No," Steve waves his hand and tries to sit up straighter in his bed before half-falling backwards as the pain flares up again. "M'good."

"Uh huh," Natasha says knowingly. "I'll be right back."

 

***

 

A little while later, Natasha wheels Steve into Tony and Bruce's "Science Bros Workplace," as Tony likes to call it. One side is filled with electronics in varying degrees of completion; there are pieces of Tony's and War Machine's suits scattered across a table, waiting to be repaired. Steve notices a rather intricately designed metal limb on one of the tables, looking much less dangerous this way. It is a newly manufactured, safety guaranteed arm that Tony insisted on making when they'd brought Bucky to the tower. That way Bucky could have an arm that wasn't precisely designed to kill people and Hydra wouldn't have the chance of tracking him with it either. Steve notes in the back of his head to ask Tony about that later, but for now he focuses on the situation at hand.

The other half of the large room has a few lab tables, lined along the perimeter, that are decorated with beakers and Petri dishes. A couple of the experiments fizz and pop as others bubble quietly. It reminds Steve vaguely of the rooms he'd been tested in before Erskine decided he was ready for the serum. A somewhat unnerving wave of deja-vu washes over Steve at the memory.

Tony and Bruce are working at a lab table in the far corner of the room, bent over something Steve can't see. Natasha is opening her mouth to get their attention when a small but abrupt explosion sounds from the place Tony and Bruce are working. Bruce jumps a little and Tony lets out a small laugh at his partner's reaction.

"And that is why you don't mix a sodium-potassium alloy with-" Tony spins around and ends up cutting himself off when he sees Steve and Natasha by the door. "Oh! We have guests." He has the sleeves of his faded Black Sabbath shirt rolled up to his elbows and he's wearing a pair of safety goggles that slide down his nose when he tilts his head forward.

Bruce turns around a few seconds after Tony, switching his goggles for his thin-rimmed glasses. He adjusts the bottom of his purple button down shirt. "Hi Steve, Natasha," he waves.

Steve nods, "Bruce." Natasha only smiles.

"What can Dr. Banner and myself do for you?" Tony asks, his eyes falling to the wheelchair Steve is sitting in. "What're you... right, of course. I almost forgot. You're here for the what-do-you-call-it? Debrief, right? Of the bullets?"

"Tony," Bruce says, stepping forward and gently grabbing Tony's shoulder to cease the man's babbling. "Sorry, we were just finishing a- well, it doesn't matter."

"It's no problem," Steve says, even though the anxiousness in his chest grows every minute he doesn't know what effect the bullets will have on him.

"If you'll just follow me..." Bruce walks over to another table near one of the walls, miraculously empty of beakers unlike the others surrounding it. He waves his fingers in front of him a few times and a computer screen appears before him in midair. Natasha wheels Steve to the part of the room where Bruce is standing. Steve hears Tony sigh and he glances over at the man.

"I should probably get started on my repairs of the suit. New improvements you know... Input is always welcome- not really, that was a joke. Anyways!" Tony wanders over to the pieces of his suit across the room, grabbing a welding mask and a torch in the process. "Oh, Steve!" Tony turns back around, a little wide-eyed.

"Yes, Tony?" Steve replies.

"We can talk about Buckaroo's arm later, okay?" Tony says, phrased as more of a statement than a question and acting somewhat nicer than normal. Steve nods, a little annoyed at the new nickname for his friend. He then directs his attention back to Bruce.

"So," Bruce starts, swiping the hologram screen with two fingers. "Dr. Avery was right about the capsules in the bullets; they both contained some sort of serum." He gestures to his right and another screen appears, displaying a diagram of the bullets and their contents. "Jarvis?"

"How may I help, sir?" Jarvis sounds, his voice flooding the room. It still makes Steve feel strange, having an ever-present intelligence in the Avengers Tower that knows more than even Tony does.

"Can you pull up the images of Erskine's serum?" Bruce asks, tapping away at the screen in front of him.

"Of course, sir," says Jarvis, and a hologram immediately appears around Steve, Natasha, and Bruce. It reflects off the metal of the wheelchair in varying shades of blue and green, almost like the three of them are underwater. It swims around them, circling at a slow pace.

"See the proteins of the serum? They're all woven together, almost similar to the nucleotides of DNA, if you will," says Bruce. "Jarvis, the serum in the bullets, please." Another image displays itself in front of the Super Soldier Serum, overlapping it. Having the one image on top of the other made it much easier to decipher the similarities and differences between the two make-ups of the serums.

"The serum in the bullets, which I can now safely say is of Hydra origin, is much less gathered than Erskine's design," says Bruce. He directs his hand towards the images and splays his fingers, zooming in. "The Hydra serum is tangled, messy. The only order in them is that they seek to take apart anything that has an organized genetic code, such as the Super Soldier Serum."

"Like what-" Steve swallows, a small lump in his throat. "What Bucky was injected with?"

"I thought that too, at first. But when I compared the two, his was much more similar to your own."

Zola had come close to Erskine's formula, but not close enough. Steve and Bucky both have increased metabolisms, strength, and speed, but Bucky had been conditioned to endure any sort of pain while on a mission as well as the on-and-off cryo freezings. Bucky had been made into a weapon, Steve into a symbol of hope for the American people.

"The Super Soldier Serum heightens and improves just about everything," says Tony, startling Steve as he steps into the circle of glowing blue and green light. "Agility, strength, muscle growth," Tony continues, explaining what Steve already knows and resting his hand on Steve's shoulder like he's proving his point.

"Exactly," says Bruce, raising his eyebrows. "This formula, unfortunately, does the reverse."

Natasha sighs, having figured it out a minute ago, and leans into the wall. Steve's heart sinks into his stomach.

Bruce nods and turns his attention to Steve. "You'll probably start to feel the effects later this evening. Sore muscles, stiffness in your joints, tightness in the chest."

"Your asthma will return," Tony continues. "Your back will hurt like- well, like hell for a little while, and then it should even out into a dull pain as your spine shortens." He shrugs and shoves his hands into his jean pockets. The look of pity in Tony’s eyes gives himself away though, regardless of his put-on indifference.

Steve closes his eyes and squeezes the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "So you're saying I'll be like I was... before?" he says without opening his eyes. There's a lull in the conversation and Steve looks up, glancing at Tony beside him and then Bruce a few feet away.

"Yes," says Bruce, his face falling like he's just told Steve that he's dying, which isn't really that far off.

 

***

 

"I’m really sorry, Steve," Natasha says a while later when he's back in his apartment that Tony gave him in the Tower. He's sitting on the couch, head in his hands, with her beside him.

"Yeah," Steve says, running his hands through his hair. He's too tired to say much else.

Natasha shifts and Steve notices her quick, hardly visible glance at the door out of the corner of his eye. She's always been there for him and always will be, but he can tell when her emotions have been stretched farther than she'd prefer. He didn't want to burden her; after all, he was the one stupid enough to get shot.

"It's ok," Steve says and she looks back at him, the smallest hint of guilt in her eyes. "You can leave, I need to be alone anyways." Nat loops her arm through his and rests her head on his shoulder. They sit there like that for a few minutes.

"Steve," she says. He turns his head towards her and looks down at her red hair. "I’m not leaving until I know that you’re okay." She sits up straight and meets his sad, blue eyes. "This isn’t going to be easy, but after all the things I’ve seen you overcome, I know that you can get through this too. You can’t go on a few missions and I know how hard that will be for you. You always have to be doing something, but this is an opportunity to reflect. Maybe that’s exactly what you need, in light of everything that’s happened."

"What’s that saying?" Steve says with a small smile, cocking his head to the side. "Something about a pot and a kettle?"

"I know, I know," says Nat. "But I’m serious, Steve. Take some time for yourself, use this to your advantage."

"Yeah, I know," says Steve. He smiles, "Thank you."

"I’m here all week," she says. She pats his knee and stands, making her way towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, thanks again, Nat," says Steve. Natasha nods and closes the door behind her. Steve breaths a huff of air forcefully out his mouth when she’s gone. His chest immediately flares up like it's combusting from the inside. He lies down, props his head up on the pillow at the end of the couch, and makes a point to catch his breath. The changes are already happening--not just his asthma returning, but everything.

There's an ache that roots itself in his bones and blossoms over his muscles. It starts in his toes, and the feeling is similar to staying out too long in the cold and then stepping into a warm shower to rub out the chill. The stiff ache crawls up to his knees and his hips, settling in his lower back. Steve's reminded of how stupid it was when he'd bend over to wash his clothes in the bathtub, all those years ago when his mother was too sick to do it anymore. Bucky had always insisted that he would do it just so Steve wouldn't cause himself more pain and grief. Bucky always tried to help, always tried to take care of him, even when Steve's stubbornness stood directly in his way.

Steve chuckles softly and then groans as the blood throbs through his head. He sits up slowly, clutching his pounding head in his hands, and stumbles down the short hallway to the bathroom. The painkillers go down roughly, even with the tap water.

He thinks of Bucky again, about how committed he'd always been to nursing Steve back to health when he got sick with one thing or another. Even when they were little, when Bucky was barely ten, he'd been there. Steve remembers the compassion Bucky always had in his eyes, for him, for the other Howling Commandos, for everyone. Bucky's eyes still light up ever so faintly when Steve visits him now. For a moment, it seems that all the nightmares in Bucky's head over the past 70 years disappear and all that exists is Steve. Steve needs to see that glimmer in his friend's eyes more than anything right now, but he can barely walk on his own, and he's too tired to make it all the way to the psych part of the Tower anyways. Tomorrow, he promises himself.

Steve doesn't bother changing out of the hoodie and jeans that Natasha had retrieved from his apartment earlier, already feeling the cold curl up inside of him. He wanders into his bedroom and crawls under the sheets, wrapping them around him like a cocoon. Thankfully, Tony has excellent taste in thick blankets and duvets.

The last thought that drifts across Steve's almost unconscious mind is that he wishes Bucky were there to curl his warm body around him, just like he did all those years ago.

 

***

 

_Steve is shivering so violently that he's afraid he might bite his tongue off. Bucky must feel it too, because he stirs beside Steve and immediately wraps his arms around the smaller man._

_"Hey, you okay, Stevie?" he mumbles sleepily. Steve's teeth are chattering too hard to reply so he presses his back against Bucky's chest instead, snuggling into the other man's warmth. "Shhh..." Bucky whispers, and Steve feels a hand slip just under the hem his shirt. He's sure this wasn't Bucky's intention, but the other man's flesh is so warm, and Steve's shivers ease at the touch._

_"Buck," Steve whispers. "Thanks."_

_Bucky hums, already falling back asleep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> www.theoneandonlywisewoman.tumblr.com/post/149182557066/my-art-piece-for-waiting-to-be-found


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is small and all he wants to do is go visit his best friend. Is that too much to ask?

It is late morning, which is evident by the sun that's already shining brightly through the large window that makes up most of one wall in Steve’s bedroom. The sun trails across the mahogany bed frame and grey sheets, making its way over Steve’s face and he blinks a few times as he wakes up.  He yawns and stretches his arms across the width of the bed; a little disappointed that Bucky's solid figure isn't lying beside him like he'd dreamt. 

Steve tries to wiggle his almost numb toes and winces at the pain that stretches its way up his legs. It's an all too familiar ache. Living as the invincible Captain America had buried some of the memories of Steve’s scrawny past when he had been plagued with aching bones all the time. Now, those pains are creeping back inside Steve’s body. He groans as he heaves his body up to sit in his bed. The sheet that was previously covering Steve's chest falls and his eyes widen at his muscles, or lack thereof. 

 _He's small_. 

Steve unzips the now baggy hoodie and pulls his shirt off over his head so he can observe the bare skin underneath. His ribs poke through his flesh and his arms resemble twigs, all muscle mass vanished into thin air. His elbows are bony and so are his knees, he realizes, as he pushes back the sheets covering his lower half. All of Steve's pale limbs rise up awkwardly under the bedsheets.

What is he going to do? He can’t do anything like this; not when his whole body is weak and fragile. After 70 years, Captain America had returned and the public are still getting used to the idea of Steve being alive and fighting with the Avengers. Now all of that would be stripped away again, if his condition can’t be fixed soon enough, Steve’ll have to announce it to the world how vulnerable he is. All of those citizens who believe in Captain America will be feel unprotected again, like there’s no hope afterall. All the thoughts of Steve not living up to the super soldier Captain America makes him feel nauseous.

On top of everything, Steve still needs to see Bucky--his friend who, above everyone, had been there for him his whole life. Bucky is vulnerable too, like the citizens Steve fights for, but now Steve can't even protect him. If Hydra decides to kidnap Bucky and convert him back into the Asset, Steve would never be able to stop them. Steve can’t be the person Bucky needs him to be like this. Captain America could save Bucky, and could protect him from anyone that dared to try and cause him pain and suffering. But, Steve reminds himself, Captain America didn't always save Bucky either. Captain America had let his best friend fall from that train. Captain America hadn’t searched for his friend’s body--something he constantly beats himself up about--and now Bucky was paying for that mistake.

Steve is weak and useless in all the ways Captain America was not. If skinny, chronic illness-riddled Steve had anything in common with the hero Captain America, it was that both shared a caged and broken heart--one that refused to bleed on anyone else and therefore rips itself to pieces in silence.

"Jarvis?" Steve says, mind scrambling for an answer of what to do with everything coursing through his head.  

"Good morning sir," says Jarvis. "How may I be of service?" 

Steve jumps a little at the voice's immediate response, but the bed hardly even squeaks at the sudden movement. "Can you get Nat?" is the first thing that tumbles past his lips. He feels overwhelmed and although Sam is great for heart-to-hearts, right now Steve needs someone who will give it to him straight.

"Of course sir," Jarvis replies dutifully. It's a little comforting knowing that Jarvis seems unconcerned. If Steve's health was really in trouble, he knew that Jarvis would've already notified the medical staff of the Tower as well as Natasha and Sam. 

Steve wants to be dressed again when Natasha gets to his apartment, so he cautiously stands up from the bed. He's a little wobbly, not used to the lack of mass he'd gotten used to functioning with, but he makes it to the closet nonetheless. The closet is a room of itself, and just looking at all the clothes Tony bought for Steve when he moved in is exhausting. Steve grabs a white tank top that used to be almost uncomfortably tight on him and a pair of jeans that is now far too big for his small frame. He puts them on anyway and loops a belt around his jeans, pulling it four notches tighter than he did yesterday. 

Steve stumbles into the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror. He frowns. His cheekbones are sharp and his lips are pale, his blue eyes almost hauntingly standing out from the rest of his face. Not to mention he looks like a kid playing dress up in his father's clothes--he looks ridiculous. He could almost hear Bucky, sitting on the edge of the bathtub with that cocky smirk on his face, "Hey, Stevie, quit stealing my clothes." He'd laugh and dip his head before waving a hand at Steve's annoyed face. 

There's a knock at the door, so Steve yells, "It's open!" Steve has to pause after the shout as the air suddenly feels like it’s being pulled from his lungs. Steve braces himself on the cold porcelain sink.

"Steve?" He hears Natasha say, worry slipping into her tone, before she shuts the door behind her. "Jarvis said you needed me. He said it was urgent. Steve?" The smallest hint of panic enters her voice. She'll find him eventually--the apartment is larger than anything Steve had ever dreamed of living in, but it's not  _that_ big. 

"In here!" Steve calls again. This time the strain of his voice pulls a cough out of his lungs. He's still hacking away when Nat enters the bathroom. Steve collects himself and meets her gaze, having to tilt his head slightly upwards instead of down--a weird change from before. Her eyes widen a little as they trail over his small frame, her hand covering her mouth. If he didn't know her so well, Steve would think she was laughing at him, yet the small line in between her eyebrows gives away her concern. 

"Is this really how you were?" she asks. Steve doesn't think he's ever seen her this shocked before. "I've seen pictures but... Steve." Her eyebrows raise in a half-worried, half-astonished expression.

"I know," Steve shrugs and puts on a lopsided grin. "Yeah, this was how I was, and I’ve got to say, I don't miss it." 

"You're okay though, right?" Nat asks. "I mean, besides the obvious."

Steve nods, "As good as I can be, I guess." He steps past her back into his bedroom, trying to hide his emotions that are now painted all over his face, but he stumbles on the way over to his bed. Catching himself on the edge, he quickly sits down. 

"Steve-" Nat is at his side before he can blink. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine," says Steve, shaking his head. He feels Nat's hand rest on his bony shoulder. 

"You're breathing hard," she says.

Steve gulps in some air. "Asthma, remember? It was always bad. Guess it just feels worse now because it's been so long." He vaguely remembers how Bucky would lay him down on his bed, propping him up with a few pillows until he leveled his breathing out after a bad attack. 

"I'll get you an inhaler from the medical floor after I leave," Natasha says.

"I forgot they had those. I never planned on needing one," Steve laughs a little in relief. Sam had talked about how he had had terrible asthma throughout his childhood and although the intensity of attacks improved as he grew, he still kept an inhaler with him on missions if he needed it.

Natasha is staring at Steve, her lips pursed like she's eaten a lemon. Steve decides that she might be distracted enough with his current state to not think twice about allowing him to visit a certain ex-assassin best friend of his.

"I'm going to see Bucky today," Steve says matter-of-factly. 

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Natasha says, sitting down beside him on the bed--not distracted enough, apparently. Steve understands where she's coming from--Bucky is still an ex-assassin. He might be recently retired, but he is still capable of being deadly. Bucky had also tried to kill Steve only a couple of weeks ago. "Your physical changes might trigger something," Natasha points out, raising her eyebrows. Before Steve has a chance to defend his reasoning, there's a rather loud knock on the door. 

"Steve?" an upbeat voice calls. "You ready for our run?"

"It's Sam," Steve says as a sort of apology. 

"We'll talk about it later," Natasha says, in no way implying that she's changed her mind. Steve nods and she stands and makes her way to the door as the flurry of knocks continue. 

"C'mon, I know you're in there, why-" Natasha opens the door, but Steve is still visible slightly to her side, and he can see the look of surprise dawn on Sam's face. Sam has his favourite running shoes on, sleek and black, paired with his grey sweatshirt along with a loose fitting pair of workout shorts. "Steve, if I'd known..." Sam starts as Nat closes the door, now fully realizing how bad it was. Steve is still sitting on the bed, leaning forward with his arms resting on his bony knees. He shrugs with a sheepish smile. 

"I don't think I'll be running today, Sam." 

"Damn," Sam drags a hand over his head, and his eyes go a little wide. "I heard about the mission from Stark but this--" He gestures to Steve. "This is something else." 

"Yeah, well, I lived like this for years, so I figure I can do it again until Bruce figures out how to fix it," says Steve with a sad smile. A small voice in his head whispers, wondering if Bruce actually can fix it. He physically shakes his head to rid himself of the thought. Sam's eyebrows are slightly raised as he blatantly stares at Steve's body. It makes Steve feel a little self-conscious--something he hasn't been for a while--but he understands. Everyone in this life has known him as the extra-special giant he'd turned into from the serum. They never knew this Steve. 

Then Sam puts on a smirk. "At least you can't lap me anymore," he says, laughing a little, his eyes lighting up. 

Steve shrugs and raises his eyebrows. Sam points an accusing finger at him, "No man, there's no way!" Steve grins at the mock expression of offense on Sam's face.  Sam does another quick up and down of Steve's small frame before saying, "Dude, we have to get some food into your skinny ass." He laughs and so does Steve, all of the tension and most of the pity slipping out of the room. Sam always has an amazing way of doing that, and it is something Steve really values about his friend. 

"I'll take that as a compliment," Steve shoots back. 

"Ms. Potts has requested I order a spread of breakfast foods for this morning in the common floor kitchen,” Jarvis announces. 

Sam grins, "Sounds good to me." 

The two take the elevator down a few levels of the tower to the main kitchen. Tony insists he made the common room kitchen mainly for himself, though it is rare if he eats regularly while working, so Steve guesses that Pepper had designed most of it. The room is comprised of a large, stainless steel refrigerator, a wall of cabinets with drawers below them, and an oven that could easily fit two entire turkeys. Like most of the tower, the kitchen is large and open, with modern light fixtures and a wall made up only of windows that overlook the city. Through the glass, the morning pinks and yellows of the sky offer a comforting glow to the rather harsh steel grey of the kitchen. 

As soon as Steve steps into the room, he's hit with a delicious smelling wave of eggs, bacon, and French toast. The rectangular table next to the countertop with the sink and dishwasher is covered in any breakfast food he can think of, including three bowls of fresh fruit and a platter of steaming hash browns. 

Tony and Bruce are already eating, scarfing down food like it's the first time either has eaten in days. Judging by how much time they spend in their workshop, Steve guesses that a couple of days might not actually be that far off. Both of them look up when Steve and Sam walk in and their eyes immediately fall down to Steve. He feels anxious but he puts on a smile nonetheless--there’s no need to worry the others more than they already are. Sam, the intuitive guy Steve knows him to be, grips Steve's bony shoulder with his big hand reassuringly before moving past him towards the spread of food.

"Sam, Steve, how nice of you to join us," says a familiar and elegant voice. Steve looks up from his socked feet towards the sound of the voice and sees Pepper Potts in a neatly pressed white blouse and dark violet pencil skirt, pouring a cup of coffee from an expensive looking machine. "Coffee?" she offers, glancing at Sam. 

"No thanks," says Sam with a chuckle. "Already had a protein shake and something is telling me that the two wouldn't mix very well." 

"Steve?" Pepper asks. Her eyes are sweet and sincere as she tucks a piece of orange hair behind her ear. 

"Sure, thanks," Steve says, smiling warmly. Pepper is one of his favourite people. She always goes the extra mile to make sure everyone is taken care of. It is something that takes a great deal of effort sometimes, but she always manages to pull it off. "That would be great." 

Pepper smiles and grabs another mug from the cabinet above her. Meanwhile, Steve sits down beside Sam at the table, reaching first for the bacon and then taking a couple of eggs. He's very much aware of the eyes still transfixed on him from the opposite side of the table, but instead of making him nervous, it's actually just kind of annoying. 

"Look," Steve sighs. "I'm just trying to have some breakfast. I know I look a lot different--I feel different too, but can we talk about this later? I'm starving." Sam whistles beside him at Steve’s harsh tone, and Steve digs an elbow into the man's side. 

Bruce nods apologetically. "I’m sorry, Steve. I should be the last person in here being judgmental." 

"It’s fine, Bruce. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I just needed to get it off my chest, I guess," Steve deflates and rubs the back of his neck. They all look expectantly at Tony.

"What?" Tony says, feigning obliviousness. "When Cap goes from Hulk Hogan--" Bruce grimaces. "To Pee-wee Herman, I'm not going to be subtle about noticing it." He raises his hands defensively. Steve sighs and shakes his head, but he laughs a little under his breath. Tony’s honesty isn’t always appreciated, but today it helps ease Steve’s frustration that he feels deep in his stomach about what’s happening to him.

Pepper places a steaming cup of coffee in front of Steve before moving around the table to sit next to Tony. "I'm not even sure you know how to be subtle, Tony," she says, kissing him on the cheek. Tony shrugs drapes an arm around her shoulders. Just then, Natasha walks in with Clint in tow. 

"Steve," she says and hands him an inhaler. "If you lose it or just want another one, medical has more." 

"Thanks, Nat," says Steve. 

"All of the inhalers available in the Tower have been enhanced by Sir as well, Mr. Rogers,” Jarvis comments.

“I should’ve guessed,” Steve says and Tony grins and winks at him. Bucky and Steve had never dreamed of affording an inhaler before and Steve is thankful for all the things he gets to have now.

"I see you found Robin Hood," Tony says, pointing his fork at Natasha and Clint. Nat rolls her eyes at Tony but smiles as she sits down beside Steve. 

"It smells great, Pepper," she says.  "Thank you." 

"No need to thank me," Pepper replies. "I asked Jarvis to order everyone’s favourites from iHop." 

"In that case," says Clint as he slides into the seat across from Natasha. "Thanks, Jarvis."

"Of course, sir," says the AI. 

 

*** 

 

Steve stands in the elevator next to Sam, a little faint despite his full stomach. Before them is a level of the Tower, directly below the medical floor, that Tony had dedicated entirely to a psychiatric care facility when Steve had insisted he wanted Bucky to stay. It looked a lot like medical, all white and polished, but the faces of the staff Tony had hired were kind and friendly, so the harsh colours of the level of the Tower weren’t as daunting. These people's passion for their patients' needs is evident in their eyes. 

Steve recalls how much time he'd spent at the SHIELD psychiatric facility when he had been fresh out of the ice. The staff there had been incredibly kind and gentle, easing him into any "new-age" thing he was wary of. Some of the staff here had been gathered from SHIELD after its collapse, and Tony and Pepper had personally interviewed every single person to guarantee they weren't associated with Hydra. It made the whole atmosphere much more comforting. To think that Steve might have been cared for by someone who was part of Hydra in the SHIELD facility made him feel nauseous.

"C'mon man," says Sam, drawing Steve back to the present. Steve takes a few steps out of the elevator before turning to face him. 

"You don't have to come with me," Steve says, though he knows he desperately needs Sam's support. 

"Of course I'm coming," says Sam. "I'll always be here for you, even if I have to lie to Natasha to sneak you in here."

"There go your chances," Steve laughs. 

Sam shrugs, "With Clint here, I don't know if I'd even get close enough to her to talk about the weather." 

"Right, I'm sure that's the reason," says Steve. Sam punches him gently in the arm, using less strength than he normally would because of Steve’s condition. 

They walk down a short hallway with at least five rooms on either side. Steve stops at the last one of the left. There's a temporary sign on the door that reads J. BARNES in thick black letters. Steve swallows a lump of emotion.

"Maybe we should come back later," he says, trying to downplay the slight shake in his voice. When Bucky had been brought into the care of the Avengers Tower psychiatric staff under the permission of Fury, Steve had only visited his friend once. Though Steve wanted to see him more often, Bucky’s psychiatrist had advised that Steve should hold off until Bucky was feeling more mentally stable. Steve had agreed reluctantly, not wanting to jeopardize Bucky’s health, and until recently, Steve had kept his distance. The psychiatrist had notified him a few days before the recent Netherlands mission that Bucky was up to visitors and Steve had planned to visit his friend immediately after he returned from the mission. Now, he isn’t sure he wants to, having no idea what state Bucky is in--the last thing Steve wants is to scare him away.

"We came here to see him, so here we are. You don't have to be nervous, trust me. I got your back, okay?" says Sam. He looks down at Steve's worried face and pulls him into a gentle but firm embrace. 

Steve pats his back appreciatively and mumbles a soft "Thank you," into Sam's workout sweatshirt. Steve pulls away and takes a deep breath before knocking on the door to the room. A few moments pass, and he considers sprinting back down the hall towards the elevator, but he's still a little wobbly on his feet and he'd start coughing before he made it halfway. Damn asthma. 

The pale, beige door opens and reveals an equally pale and beige old man with thick-rimmed glasses and a moustache peppered with grey. He's holding a clipboard in his wrinkled hands, and his warm brown eyes stare at Sam before looking down at Steve. 

"Mr. Rogers, is that you?" the psychiatrist asks. He takes off his glasses. "Oh my, I thought my glasses were making things up, but here you are!" He gestures to Steve with a confused smile. 

"It's a long story, sir," Steve says. "If you're busy, we can come back; I just thought-"

"No, no, please. He's making great progress--as good as is expected, at least. Today was a little difficult, but he pushed through, and I'm very proud of him. I believe he's still up for conversation though," says the psychiatrist. He turns his head and calls into the room, "Am I assuming correctly, James?" 

A soft "Yes," echoes out. Steve's heartbeat quickens.

"See? It's fine. We just finished our session, anyway." The psychiatrist steps away from the door and waves a goodbye to Steve and Sam as he makes his way down the hallway. Sam gives Steve a meaningful _you've got this_ look, and Steve steps inside. 

The square room is plain, save for the light blue curtains draped around the window and the painting of a sailboat on the opposite wall. Steve remembers requesting this room for Bucky to stay because he believes that when you're feeling trapped inside your own head, a window is a great change in perspective. Steve has most of his therapy meetings in an office with a sweet young lady who doesn’t look at him as 'Captain America back from the dead' but as a real person. Because Bucky needed more round-the-clock care, Steve had asked Tony to build rooms for Bucky and any other patients that would need to live in psychiatric care for a stretch of time.

The room also contains a bed that is pushed up against the back wall. The sheets are eggshell white, and there's a blue blanket draped over the corner of it to match the curtains. In the corner to the right of the window, there's an expensive looking leather chair that stands out a little oddly from the rest of the room. 

He's there too, of course, sitting cross-legged on the bed. Bucky. He looks tired, but that's something Steve expects when he sees him now. Most of Bucky's hair hangs over his face, shielding half of it from view. From what Steve can see, Bucky has purple circles under his eyes that resemble bruises. It worries Steve, even though he knows Bucky is getting the best possible treatment. If it was his nightmares- no, Steve doesn't want to let his mind go there.  

"Hey," Steve says, quieter than he needs to. "Bucky?" Bucky looks up from the hardwood floor and pushes back a lock of hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear. His face lights up at first, almost childlike and Steve wonders if Bucky remembers the first time Steve came to see him.

"Steve?" Bucky says with a scratchy voice. "You look-- is that really you?”

"Yeah, it's me," Steve says and relaxes a little. He realizes that Bucky might be confused by his physical changes so he says quickly, “I know I kind of look a little different, or the same, I guess it depends on how much you remember. Uh…”

Sam's looking at Bucky too, and he puts on a genuine smile. "Morning, James." Steve is grateful for Sam knowing when to step in. If he wasn’t here, Steve could probably ramble on forever. Sam’s voice steals Bucky’s attention away from Steve’s current physical state.

"Wilson, Samuel Thomas; codename: Falcon," Bucky snaps out immediately, suddenly sitting ramrod straight. Grimacing once he realizes what he did, Bucky crumples a little. "Sorry, old habit."

Sam has gone somewhat rigid, but he has every right to, as Steve reminds himself. After all, it's more than a little stressful speaking to the man who ripped off a piece of your equipment and threw you off a building with the intent to kill you. 

Sam takes a noticeable breath then says, "Don’t worry about it." Sam glances at Steve and then to the door. "I'll just wait outside, okay?" 

"Sure," Steve says. "Thanks again." 

"Anytime," Sam says and closes the door gently behind him. 

"So," Steve starts again and sits down in the leather chair. Bucky looks at Steve through strands of his brown hair with curious eyes. "How are you, Buck?" 

Bucky shrugs. "Approaching full efficiency." Steve winces. Bucky’s eyes get a little distant when he speaks like that.

"Are they treating you all right here?" Steve asks. He’s making small talk and he hates it, but he wants to warm Bucky up before explaining why he looks the way he does and not like the last time they saw each other.

"Care is optimum but provides no punishments, food is--" Bucky pushes back his hair from his face and looks directly at Steve. "Food's not boiled so I count that as a win, Stevie.”

Shocked, Steve pauses for a moment before breaking out in a full-bodied laugh fueled by relief and overall happiness-- Bucky seems to be remembering more about their past. "I'm with you on that one, pal."  

"You look…" Bucky trails off as he becomes more aware. His sharp blue eyes trail over Steve's small frame, and he sucks in a breath and blinks rapidly a few times. "I don't-- you're small?" Steve is about to confirm what Bucky's asking about when Bucky abruptly stands from his bed and stumbles back into the corner of the room opposite from where Steve is sitting. Bucky stretches out his hands, fingers wide, like he's trying to push someone away.

"Stevie, what's happening?" Bucky's eyes are wild and fearful now. 

"Sam!" Steve calls, eyes glued to Bucky, and Sam immediately barges in, almost taking the door off its hinges in the process. 

"Wilson, Samuel Thomas; code name--  _Steve,"_ Bucky gasps. Steve hastily moves around the bed and toward his shaking friend. 

"Steve, what are you doing?" Sam shouts. He stumbles out of the room to call for help, and when he quickly steps back inside the room, Steve is only a couple of feet away from Bucky. 

Bucky's eyes are rapidly flying around the room and avoiding Steve's approaching figure at all costs. Steve is close enough now that he can reach out and grasp both Bucky's flesh arm and his metal one, so he does so, slowly.  He squeezes Bucky’s arms gently and Bucky's eyes finally meet Steve’s, except now Bucky is glaring at him viciously.  

"Get off me," Bucky snarls, glaring viciously, and his breathing picks up.

"Buck," Steve whispers as he tries to block out Sam's urgent voice and the forming chaos from outside the room. "Bucky, you're going to hyperventilate. Focus on me," Steve pleads, placing one hand on his friend’s chest and the other on his own. He takes a shaky but slow, deep breath in through his nose and then blows the air out of his mouth a few times in a controlled pattern. Bucky looks confused and extremely on edge but something below the panic and violence makes himself stop shaking, trying to focus on Steve's actions. Steve realizes that Bucky is probably still assessing how much of a threat Steve is, but if that's what it takes to get Bucky to focus and breathe with him, then Steve doesn't care. 

Bucky’s eyes flash, and he crumples against the wall a little. "S-Steve?" He gasps in recognition. "Stevie, I can't--" he gasps, tears streaming down his face. 

"You can't breathe, I know. Just follow me, Buck, watch me," Steve says calmly, just like Bucky used to do when Steve used to have asthma attacks before the war. Bucky nods spasmodically and tries to match Steve’s breaths with his own. It works faster than Steve expects it to, and in a minute or so Bucky's breathing is almost back to normal. Sam and Bucky’s psychiatrist surround the two of them, Sam pulling Steve away while the psychiatrist helps Bucky back to his bed.

"I'm sorry, Steve," Bucky says, his head on his knees. "I'm sorry." 

"Don't apologize," says Steve earnestly as he struggles under Sam's strong arms that are wrapped across his chest, coughing at the force he's using. 

"C'mon, Steve," says Sam in Steve's ear and drags him closer to the door. 

"No, I'm not going to leave him," Steve growls angrily. "He just had a panic attack; I'm not leaving him like that." 

"I'm afraid you'll have to come back tomorrow, Mr. Rogers," says Bucky's psychiatrist. Steve protests again, but Sam manages to pull him out of the room. Bucky is still apologizing when Sam shuts the door. 

"What the hell, Steve?" Sam almost shouts. He earns a few stern looks from the other doctors, and he lowers his voice when he speaks again. "What were you thinking? I know he's your buddy and all, but dude, you can't just do shit like that. I've been around people who've had panic attacks; hell,  _I've_  had panic attacks, Steve. You can't just-- you can't just do that, especially when Bucky’s in an unstable condition already. You could have made the situation worse or, hell, even gotten yourself hurt as well." 

Steve’s chest immediately fills with regret. He knows that Bucky is his friend and that Bucky wouldn't dream of hurting Steve. The Asset, on the other hand, could have finished Steve off and completed its mission. Steve finds that hard to swallow, but it's true. He shouldn't have come. Natasha had told him that his new condition might trigger something, and she was right. Sam is right too. Steve had tried to do something that might not have even worked and by doing so he had sacrificed not only his own safety, but Sam's as well, if Bucky had reverted back to the Asset. God, had Steve made Bucky regress? It’s all his fault.

"Sam," Steve manages to say past the lump in his throat. "I'm so sorry" he chokes out. The sadness that fills Steve's blue eyes is enough for Sam to push this argument to the side and envelope his friend in a hug. 

"Yeah, I know you are, man," says Sam. 

When they pull apart, Sam doesn't say anything about the wetness that glazes Steve's eyes or the small tremble of his bottom lip. Instead, he wraps an arm around Steve's shoulders, something he’d never been able to do before, and guides the blonde down the hallway and towards the elevator. 

"How does a nice Chicken Banh Mi sound right about now?" Sam asks. Steve's stomach grumbles so loudly it's almost embarrassing. “All right then, to the kitchen!" Sam exclaims. Steve grins half-heartedly at Sam, wiping tears off of his face as the elevator doors close in front of them. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An aching heart, one adorable fan, and a surprise leap in domestic living later, things might actually be ok.

After lunch with Sam, Steve sits in a chair in the small living room of his apartment in Avengers Tower, his head in his hands. The TV is tuned to a comedy show, but the volume is turned down low. The bright, optimistic sun from earlier that morning has taken to hiding behind the grey blanket of the clouds. They bunch together, darkening and threatening to spill water over Manhattan. Every few minutes, Steve hears a faint rumble of thunder in the distance as a storm rolls towards the city.

Steve tries to not ask 'why' very often because he knows how slippery that slope is, how quickly you can fall into a pit of despair when you ask 'why me?'. Even when Steve had first woken up from the ice, he refused to think too much about why it had happened to him. Mostly out of stubbornness, he figures now, but he hadn't wanted to seem ungrateful. He'd survived, against all odds, so why should he be allowed to be upset? Right now, when he feels smaller than he's ever felt before, Steve can't help but ask the very question he always tried to avoid, now failing himself in addition to everyone else, he thinks.

One of the first things Steve had done when he came out of the ice was search for anyone from his past that might still be alive. All of the Howling Commandos had passed, along with others he knew from before the war. Then he'd found Peggy; Peggy Carter, his best girl. Steve had promptly picked up a bouquet of red roses and white hydrangeas and took a taxi to her nursing home. She'd recognized him in seconds, her mind still sharp then. The last time Steve visited Peggy it took her the good portion of a minute to realize who he was.

Thunder cracks loudly outside, and it shouts for attention seconds after the flashes of lightning break through the downpour of rain.

It's selfish because Steve feels like he's using Peggy to stay connected to the memories before the ice. It's selfish because he feels like he only keep visiting for himself and not always for her. It's selfish because now Bucky is back, but he's not--not really. He'll never be the same man Steve knew in the war, and Bucky sure as hell won't be the man Steve remembers from his childhood. The two people Steve needs more than anything and loves more than anyone are fading away, slipping through his thin fingers.

"C'mon, Steve," he mutters to himself. He stands from his chair and walks over to the floor-length window. The pelting rain has eased into a gentle patter as it bounces softly off the glass. In the distance, Steve sees the pale blue of a calm sky. In a matter of minutes, the soft blue had pushed the angry storm away from Manhattan to let the sunshine through once more.

Steve smiles a small, hopeful smile and takes the change in weather as a sign. He grabs his phone from the coffee table by the chair, switches off the TV, and makes his way for the door. He almost grabs his leather bomber jacket out of habit in case the wind from earlier hasn't quite died down but realizes that it'll be much too big for him. Instead, he snags a thick sweater from the closet in his bedroom--it’s larger on his body now, as everything seems to be, but it would have to do--and retrieves a small sketchpad and some pencils from a drawer as an afterthought before leaving, snatching an inhaler as he walks out the door.

Steve takes a short taxi ride to Central Park and has only walked just past the entrance when he realizes that he can't breathe. He finds a bench nearby and promptly sits down, mentally thanking Nat that she stowed inhalers in various places around his apartment in case he needed them and that one was by the door. Picking it up from the counter felt like instinct even though he'd never used one before now. It was like his mind knew he would need it; it remembered exactly how this smaller Steve functioned and how it should take care of him.

Hands trembling, Steve shakes the inhaler for a few seconds before removing the cap and breathing out. When he holds the inhaler to his mouth and breathes in, his nose crinkles at the taste. It's faint, but it'll take some getting used to. He breathes out again when he's done, and the fire burning in his lungs cools; the tight dryness in them fading away. How Steve had lived without an inhaler before, especially when he'd get hit with a really bad asthma attack, he wasn't sure. It was always Bucky who knew what to do. Steve panicked too much when he couldn't breathe, but Bucky had spent years helping Steve catch his breath again--it was like second nature.

At the thought of his friend, Steve feels a pang of guilt from the events earlier that day. He shakes his head and cards his fingers through his blonde hair. Something's missing--damn, he forgot his baseball cap and sunglasses. If someone recognizes him, well, Steve isn't exactly in tip-top shape to dodge out of the way of fans and paparazzi. He ducks his head, trying to hide his face when he hears someone singing. The singing is sweet and high-pitched, like a child. When Steve cautiously glances up, he sees a little girl, not more than 6-years-old, skipping alongside her mother.

"Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American Way?" the little girl giggles, her brunette curls bouncing by her shoulders as she raises her right arm. She's holding a plastic toy version of Steve's shield, putting it up by her face like she's blocking an attack.  
"Who, sweetheart?" the little girl's mother plays along, smiling down at her daughter.  
"The Star Spangled Man with a plan!" the girl sings out. Her mother laughs as her daughter spins around with the shield.  
"Look, Mommy! I can throw my shield too! Just like--" the little girl exclaims before tossing the toy into the air.  
Steve ducks his head again, except this time he isn't so much worried about being recognized as he is about losing his head. Steve hears the plastic shield hit the pavement seconds before it skitters to a stop at his feet.  
"I'm so sorry!" the mother calls as she rushes over to Steve, her daughter in tow. "Cynthia, you know we don't throw toys," she scolds as Cynthia retreats to hide behind her mother's legs.

Steve picks up the shield and gives it to Cynthia, "No worries, ma'am," he says to her mother. Then, looking down at Cynthia again, he smiles. "You have a good arm there, Miss Captain America." Cynthia blushes and takes the shield. "One day when you're big and strong, maybe you'll have a real shield too," says Steve.

"I don't care about that," Cynthia states plainly.

"Cynthia, we don't talk like that," her mother says sternly. Steve waves a hand to say that it's all right.  
"I want to be nice like him," says Cynthia with an infectious smile. "He's a good person. That's why he's my favourite Avenger."

"Is that so?" Steve says as his heart threatens to burst inside his chest.

"Uh huh. He's got big muscles, but he's nice in his heart. Mommy says that's what counts."

"That sounds great, kiddo," says Steve, absolutely beaming. "Maybe I'll see you again sometime, Cynthia."

"Okay... what's your name?" Cynthia asks.

"Steve," he says.

"Like Captain America!"

Steve laughs, "Yeah, like Captain America."

When Steve looks back up at Cynthia's mother--which is strange, as he's used to being a head taller than everyone, not two heads shorter--she has a warm and knowing look in her eyes. "Thank you again," the mother pauses and searches for something in Steve's eyes before turning to leave with her daughter.

"Whatever is going on, I'm sure you'll make it through like you always do, Mr. Rogers," she says, looking back to face him.

Steve's eyes go a little wide and he stutters out, "T-thank you, um..."

"Elizabeth." Elizabeth smiles a gentle, motherly smile, something Steve hasn't realized he missed until now.

"Thank you, Elizabeth."

"No, thank you," Elizabeth says and Cynthia waves as they walk away.

"Bye!" Steve says and waves back.

 

***

 

A fuzzy white cat with splotches of grey patterning its fur sprawls lazily on the park bench opposite Steve. The daylight is fading as the sun draws closer to the horizon in the late afternoon haze, but Steve figures he has an hour before any shadows start to warp the cat's shape.

Steve flips to a new page of his sketchbook and picks a pencil from his collection. He starts with the cat's plump shape as it licks its paw. Just as he starts to add more detail--the curve of its tail, its long whiskers, and the point of its ears--Steve hears his phone buzz inside his pocket. He tries ignoring it, thinking that whoever his calling will give up eventually, but the buzzing is relentless. He rests the sketchpad on the bench beside him with a sigh and answers his phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Rogers. This is James' psychiatrist, Dr. Abbot, but please, call me William," the voice crackles through the phone.

"Oh, hello... William," Steve says, unease slipping into his voice. "Is something wrong?" He switches his phone to his other ear as he packs up his sketching supplies.

"No, no, I'm sorry if I worried you. Actually, I would like to have a conversation with you, Mr. Rogers, about your friend and what his options are, if that's all right?"

"Yes, of course," Steve sighs in relief. "I'm out at the moment but I'll meet you in your office as soon as I get back."

"All right. Thank you, Mr. Rogers. See you soon."

Steve takes a breath from his inhaler before briskly walking out of the park to catch a cab back to Avengers Tower.

 

***

 

Steve meets Dr. Abbot in his office half an hour later. Dr. Abbot's office is somewhat large as almost everything is in the Tower. The furniture is all leather and mahogany and is decorated with various pictures of the doctor's family as well as stacks of folders and binders filled with paperwork. Even though Dr. Abbot spots Steve walking briskly towards him through the glass walls, Steve still knocks politely before opening the door.

When Steve enters after seeing the psychiatrist wave, Dr. Abbot opens a cabinet of his desk to his left and rummages through the files until he finds what he's looking for. When he pops back up from behind the desk, he gestures to the chair in front of him.

"Please, sit," Dr. Abbot says. He smiles, and the creases that deepen around his eyes and mouth are kind and gentle, giving the air of a grandfather. Steve sits and crosses a leg over his other before uncrossing them and leaning forward instead. He fidgets a little more with his hands before leaving them on the armrests of the chair, drumming his fingers on the leather anxiously.

Dr. Abbot eyes Steve's fingers and some warmth enters the psychiatrist's eyes. "There's no need to worry, I promise. I understand that earlier today was a bit... stressful, for all parties involved, but please believe me when I say that all we have to discuss is positive."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Abbot--"

"William, please, Mr. Rogers."

Steve nods, "Then please call me Steve."

Dr. Abbot nods this time and gestures to Steve. "As you were saying."

"Right," says Steve. "I'm just nervous, I guess. I feel pretty terrible about before and I want to make sure Bucky's all right."

"James is very well considering the events, which I have to admit did surprise me. This is why I'd like to discuss future options for him," says Dr. Abbot.

"All right," says Steve.

"James has been in our care since we took him in shortly after the helicarrier crash about a week ago," says Dr. Abbot. "His willingness to try anything to improve his mental stability was greatly appreciated, and I believe that is a significant factor in his improvement."

"That's good," Steve says hesitantly, dropping his gaze. He's waiting for the inevitable 'but' to come out of the psychiatrist's mouth. When it doesn't, he meets Dr. Abbot's eyes again.

"It's wonderful," Dr. Abbot says and smiles. "I think it's time that James be introduced to normal life here in the Tower, that which you and the rest of the Avengers enjoy."

"As in... living in the Tower freely?" Steve asks.

"Exactly, Mr. Rogers--Steve," says Dr. Abbot. "Free to eat and sleep where he pleases, among other things. Of course..." Dr. Abbot slides the folder he retrieved from his desk earlier towards Steve and opens it. "He will be required to have weekly appointments with me and continue his medications, which, by the way, may make him more sleepy and possibly less alert. I've provided a list of all of the medicines, their side effects, and any triggers for Hydra that we've discovered in the time he's been with us."

"Thank you, really, but why would I need them?" Steve asks.

"Well, you are one of the few people he trusts, Steve, and I think it best if he stays with you," says Dr. Abbot. "He’ll live with you while Mr. Stark designs a room for James next to yours, if that’s okay with you?"

"What?" Steve feels a mix of shock and joy course through his body all at once. Bucky is allowed to stay with him, even after everything that happened. Steve can finally be with his friend again, take care of him, and help to heal him as best he can. It'll be just like their tiny apartment before the war. A part of Steve is thrilled at the idea, and his heart starts beating wildly in his chest. The other part of him is terrified, and his heart beats even faster for an entirely different reason. What if he messes up? Steve isn't a professional, he can't help Bucky like Dr. Abbot can. He can be there for Bucky, but what good is that? What if Hydra came after Bucky? Steve is weak and useless--he wouldn't be able to protect him. It wouldn't be like the good old days in their apartment before the war. Steve couldn’t make fun of how long it took Bucky to do his hair in the morning. They wouldn’t go dancing after work; Steve clumsily tripping over his feet as Bucky tried to show him how it was really done. Bucky isn't the same man Steve remembers him to be, and the helplessness that comes with knowing there's nothing Steve can do to change that is terrifying. No matter how scared Steve is, though, he knows he’ll do anything for Bucky, regardless of any sort of shape Bucky is in.

"Steve. Steve," Dr. Abbot lies his hand on Steve's shoulder, and Steve jerks his head up.

"What?" he says again, voice breaking.

"Steve, I know this is a lot all at once, which is why I wanted to discuss it in person," says Dr. Abbot. "James talks about you often, and it helps with his therapy. I've already discussed this with him and he's perfectly content with the idea. This will help. I promise."

"Are you sure?" Steve asks. He isn't doubting the doctor, he just dreads the thought of Bucky looking forward to this and then Steve letting him down.

"Yes," says Dr. Abbot sincerely. "I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't positive."

"Thank you," he says, nerves somewhat calmed, and stands to shake Dr. Abbot's hand. "Thank you, William."

"Of course, Steve," says Dr. Abbot. "You'll have about an hour until James meets you in your apartment, if that's all right? Make any preparations you deem necessary in that time."

"Okay," says Steve. "Thank you again, for everything. You've done so much for him and I don't know what I'd do without your help."

"I'm only doing my job, Steve, though thank you for the sentiment," says Dr. Abbot. He waves Steve out the door.

 

***

 

In somewhat of a daze, Steve strips his bedsheets and replaces them with fresh ones for Bucky. It's meticulous, but it takes enough effort and concentration to distract Steve from the whirlwind of thoughts flooding his mind. He has to take two deep breaths from his inhaler to complete the task, which makes him a little bitter. He feels so damn pathetic. Every time Steve is left alone with his thoughts, he starts to spiral downwards. Maybe Bucky being around him all the time will help with that, and that thought brings a small smile to Steve’s face. Bucky will keep him company, even without a lot of conversation, and maybe the simplicity of another person's presence will help push out the emptiness that Steve feels growing inside--though just having Bucky back has already helped. Bucky’s presence will force Steve to focus on something other than the shitty hand of cards fate has dealt him.

Steve has just finished replacing the pillows on the bed when he hears a soft series of knocks on the door to his apartment. He briskly walks out of his bedroom to answer it, but has to pause before opening the door to catch his breath. Steve straightens his shoulders and puts on the happiest expression he can manage, only faking half of it, before he turns the doorknob.

Bucky stands in the doorway, a small box of his belongings under his metal arm. His brown hair slips into his eyes and he brushes the strands away with his flesh hand. When Bucky notices Steve's positive smile he can't help but let the corners of his own mouth turn up just a little.

"Hey, Buck," Steve says to the larger man. A small voice in the back of his head tells him that he used to have to look up at Bucky like he is now, all those years ago.

"Steve," Bucky says, his grin blossoming over his face. He sets the box down beside him and envelops Steve in a hug after Steve nods in response to his questioning look. Bucky squeezes Steve, then steps back, keeping his hands on Steve’s bony shoulders and drawing small circles with his thumbs. “You’re so small.”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckles, different emotions all flooding in at once.

“I knew you like this… a long time ago. But you were bigger and different then.”

“It’s confusing, I know,” Steve says. “I’m still the same guy, big or small.”

Bucky looks like he’s deep in thought for a moment, his eyebrows scrunching together in the middle of his forehead. Then, Bucky’s blue eyes drift down to meet Steve’s, and he pulls the smaller man against his chest again. Bucky leans down and buries his head into the crook of Steve’s neck as Steve pats Bucky’s back, returning the embrace just as fiercely.

“I missed you, Bucky,” Steve mumbles against Bucky’s sweatshirt.

“Missed you too, Stevie,” says Bucky. The two pull apart a little reluctantly, and Steve steps aside to let Bucky into his apartment.

"I made up the bedroom for you, so feel free to put your things in there," Steve says.

"Are you sure you don’t need the bed more?" Bucky asks and he eyes Steve up and down.

“No, no. I’m good,” Steve insists, waving his hands in emphasis.

"All right, but I know how you are--others before yourself and all that--so tell me if you need the bed.” Bucky pauses and claps Steve on the shoulder. “Thanks, pal.” Bucky turns and walks towards Steve's room before disappears as he turns around the corner.

Steve is the most relieved he’s been in a long time. Bucky has been through more than Steve can even imagine, more than he’s even read about from the file Natasha gave him. Bucky isn’t the same man Steve knew so long ago, but that doesn’t matter so much to him now. Right now, it is just like the good old days in their tiny apartment in Brooklyn. Steve plans on holding onto that for as long as he can manage.

After taking a quick breath from his inhaler, Steve calls in the direction of his bedroom, “Hey, Buck! What do you want for dinner?”

“How bout’ a nice, beefy burger?” Steve hears Bucky yell back.

“I’ll see what we can do about that.”

 

***

 

It's two o'clock when Steve gives in to his restlessness and rises from the couch. In his condition, he should be sleeping in an actual bed where he could get a proper amount of sleep, but there is no way he is going to make Bucky sleep on the couch. So, Steve sighs, pushes the blanket off of his legs, and sits up. He rests on the edge of the couch for a few seconds with his elbows on his knees before standing.

At first, Steve plans to go to the kitchen, maybe have a small snack, and try to fall back to sleep, but he knows it'll be useless. Ever since everything happened with Bucky being brought in and the reverse serum, Steve's mind has been running a mile a minute. Now, his thoughts come slower, almost peaceful in the darkness of the night, but he can't seem to shut it off. Steve soon finds himself wandering towards his bedroom, and before long, he's leaning against the doorframe with a goofy smile across his face.

Bucky's face is slack and his hair is strewn across his face like strands of silk. His cheeks are rosy from the heat of the blankets and his long eyelashes fan out over his cheeks. In the quietness of the night, Bucky's metal arm whirs faintly when he shifts positions and the plates adjust accordingly. The soft moonlight in the window gives a youthful glow to Bucky's expression and Steve can't help but choke back a few tears.

As Steve watches from the doorway, he notices Bucky's body start to tense as it goes almost rigid under the covers. Bucky groans and rolls over, his face shielded from Steve's view. Steve uncrosses his arms and watches with concern as Bucky’s stiff body suggests the possibility of a nightmare. When Bucky gasps quietly like he's in pain, Steve scrambles over to the bed as fast as his shorter legs can carry him. Steve sits down on the bed beside Bucky carefully, and now that he can see the other man's face, he realizes that Bucky's teeth are gritted together. Steve reaches out to gently brush the hair away from Bucky's forehead.

"Bucky," Steve whispers. His fingers trail themselves further in the other man's soft brown hair as Steve's other hand rubs small circles on Bucky's flesh arm. The actions relax Bucky almost immediately, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. "Hey there, pal. It's okay. You're in my apartment, in Avengers Tower, you're safe. No one is going to hurt you ever again." It's words that Steve knows deep down he can't keep, especially not like how he is now, but for the moment he feels the need to speak them.

"Steve," Bucky sighs. "Safe."

"Uh huh, you're going to be all right, Buck. I promise," Steve says.

With the combination of Steve's gentle words and soothing touches, Bucky falls back into a deep and peaceful sleep once more. Bucky had trouble sleeping the first few nights in the Tower, his mind rampant with constant night terrors. The fact that Bucky calmed down because of Steve despite his nightmare shows improvement in Steve's mind, and in his now-serene sleep, his friend looks almost happy again, completely at peace. A wave of exhaustion washes over Steve, and all his fears of Bucky living with him seem to fade away for now. Bucky took care of Steve for years, and now it was Steve's time to return the favour. Even in his current state, he was determined to give the same selflessness and determination that Bucky had showed him all those years ago.

Steve pads back down the hall to the couch, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He fluffs his pillow and then lies down, curling up under the thick wool blanket. Steve falls asleep with a small smile on his face, and for once since he woke from the ice, he's so tired that he doesn't even dream.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're the one that I want, you are the one I want. Oo-oo-oo, honey!

Early in the golden haze of the morning, just as the sun rises upwards to break over the horizon, the Avengers receive an urgent call from Nick Fury. Despite the tiredness of most of the group, they all hastily gather in the main conference room to await Fury’s arrival.

"If I knew how many times I'd have to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn, I never would've become a part of SHIELD," Clint complains. He's sprawled out in one of the chairs placed around the oval table, his ankles crossed in the seat beside him.

"Technically, we aren't a part of SHIELD anymore," Bruce says, leaning forward in his own seat to rest his elbows on the table. "Since Steve and Natasha sort of destroyed the building and leaked those files."

Clint shrugs. "Good point. But besides not technically having a job anymore, my life has remained the same. We still get our missions and intel from Fury, and my room here looks almost exactly like the one I had at SHIELD headquarters."

"Do not compare my stylish decor with SHIELD's idea of attractive living spaces," Tony says grouchily. He's standing in the far corner of the room, leaning against the window with a steaming cup of coffee between his hands. He sips it cautiously and scrunches his nose when it burns his tongue.

Clint crosses his arms and chuckles, "Yeah Tony, ‘cause your grey walls are such a more welcoming shade than SHIELD's." Natasha sniggers under her breath, and Tony rolls his eyes but lets the sarcasm slide nonetheless.

"Does anyone know where Thor is?" Steve asks in an attempt to move on from the bickering. The reverse-serum is taking a toll on Steve’s sleep quality, and six or seven hours of sleep isn’t cutting it like it used to.

"No one's seen him in weeks. As far as I know, he's still in Asgard with Jane," says Nat.

"Well shit, we're already a man down," Clint sighs. "No offense, Cap."

"None taken," Steve says honestly. He couldn’t agree more.

"Which is why one of you should track down Sam Wilson," says Fury as he strides into the conference room.

"He's probably finishing up his morning run," Steve comments as a pang of sadness hits him. "We're usually back in 15 minutes or so." God, he misses running every morning and kicking Sam’s ass in how many times he could lap his friend. All in good fun, of course.

"Good,” says Fury, pulling Steve back to the present. “Captain, gather Wilson after we finish here and inform him of the details of the mission."

"Yes, sir," says Steve.

"Fury," Nat says. "What exactly are we dealing with here?"

Fury walks to the end of the table and swipes a finger over the table where a screen appears under his fingertips. He touches different parts of the screen until it rises up from the table so everyone can see. A dozen faces appear in front of everyone, all with information on each of the individuals displayed.

"The Ukrainian arms dealing group from a few weeks ago has resurfaced," Fury says. "I've recently been contacted by several world leaders who've expressed concern about the group's expanding dealing territory. Ms. Hill has collected as much data as she could find concerning the so-called leaders of the group. She was also able to uncover an exchanging of messages between two points in South Africa about some sort of business deal which will be taking place tomorrow at noon."

"And our job is to stop the deal from going down?" Natasha asks.

"That was the original plan, Ms. Romanoff, but I believe allowing the deal to take place allows us to gain intelligence about the group’s future business partners," Fury explains. He closes the hovering window of information in front of him with a swift motion. "Jarvis has everything we know. We'll be taking the helicopter to a jet and traveling to South Africa within the hour. Jarvis can provide details over the course of the flight."

"And you required us to be awake this early... why? The deal is tomorrow," Clint asks.

"You're not going to let that one go?" Nat teases as she walks up behind Clint. "C'mon, let’s go." She ruffles his hair and Clint grins as he follows Natasha out of the room.

"I'll let Pepper know dinner in Hong Kong will have to wait," mumbles Tony with mild irritation tainting his voice.

“I’ve already notified Ms. Potts,” Jarvis mentions.

"Of course," Tony says. He claps Bruce on the shoulder. "Let’s go, science bro. Huh, was I a poet who didn’t know it?" Tony laughs and crinkles up his nose like he thinks he’s the funniest guy in the world.

"See you later, Steve," Bruce says with an empathetic smile. At the cost of Bruce’s fragile emotional state, he often picks up on the dismay or frustrations of others. It put Steve off when he first met Bruce, as he felt like he was too easy to read. Now as friends, Steve finds himself grateful for Bruce’s searching eyes.

"I'll find Sam and meet you guys on the roof to send you off," Steve says with a small smile directed towards Bruce.

"Aw," Tony says heavy with sarcasm. "Look at you, sending your husband off to war."

Steve sighs with exasperation and stands with a little effort from his chair, his knees aching in protest. Tony flashes a smirk that genuinely comes from a harmless place, but Steve is just not having it today.

"All right you two… Tony, we don't have time for this," Bruce says.

Tony heaves a big, dramatic sigh. “Fine. I’ll see you on the roof, Captain.”

 

***

 

Sam moved into Avengers Tower shortly after Project Insight so that he wouldn’t be in any danger. Steve’s morning run with Sam had a new change of scenery and it was nice to run through Central Park every morning. Steve knocks three times on the door to Sam’s apartment and Sam opens it right away, grinning ear to ear when he sees Steve, displaying the gap between his front teeth.

“I missed you this morning, man,” Sam says. Steve felt a little bittersweet to see his friend open the door, sweat glistening on his forehead and the front of his sweatshirt dampened from it.

“I missed running with you,” Steve says back, matching Sam’s smile. “I actually came to brief you on a mission Fury just gave the Avengers.”

“You’re not going, are you?” Sam says, eyeing Steve wearily.

“No, I mean look at me--how do you think that would go?” Steve says. “That’s why Fury told me to recruit you. Grab your wings; we need to get going.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Sam chuckles as he ducks back into his apartment.

Steve explains the mission to Sam as best he could between scratchy breaths and puffs on his inhaler as the two make their way to the roof. Steve hasn’t even been on his feet for that long, but it’s already taking a toll, and it’s more than a little annoying.

“Is this the same group who took down two governing officials in Tibet four months ago?” Sam asks.

“That’s them,” Steve confirms.

“Jesus, man, I’m looking forward to this mission more and more.”

A few minutes later, Steve steps out of the elevator and onto the roof with Sam in tow, who is decked out in his full Falcon gear.

“Hey,” Sam says, stopping Steve from walking further by grabbing the smaller man’s shoulder. He pulls Steve in for a quick hug, squeezing him gently. “Don’t be too sad, all right? We’ll be back before you know it, and we can go see my ma or something for dinner.”

“Sounds great, Sam, I can’t wait,” Steve says.

Sam laughs, “Cool, I’ll catch you later.”

When Sam leaves to retrieve his guns, Nat swoops in. "Hey, you okay?" she asks.

Steve shrugs and shares an unconvincing smile. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I have Bucky and Jarvis, and Pepper will be around, after all."

“Good, then you’re all set. I have a burner cell with me if you ever need to contact me, and I'll send you updates whenever I can," Nat says. "I know people say that you need a mission or a war to be who you are—”

“Maybe they’re right,” Steve says, dipping his head.

Natasha lifts his chin with her fingers, her eyes searching for something in Steve’s own. “That’s not true. You and I both know that.” She pauses before continuing, “Be careful, Steve.”

Steve nods. “I will. Thank you."

Behind them, the body of the large helicopter starts to rumble like a lion bracing for a roar, and the blades whirring around make the leaves previously resting on the roof fly off the edge of the Tower.

“I have to go,” Nat says. She leans down to kiss Steve on the cheek before jogging towards the helicopter. The door of the quinjet, serving as a ramp for boarding, begins to rise as soon as Natasha is onboard. She stands beside Sam who waves back at Steve. Steve returns the gesture, and Sam yells something back, but it's impossible to hear over the roaring sound coming from the jet. Steve cups his hands around his ears in a weak attempt to hear better, but Sam just laughs. The last thing Steve sees is Natasha loading her guns, Bruce and Tony chatting about something that Steve is sure no one else understands, and Sam typing away on his phone. A few seconds later, Steve's phone beeps.

 **Sam** : I was trying to say that if you get bored, watch Grease.  
**Me** : What is that?  
**Sam** : It’s a classic musical/movie based in the 50s. I promise you'll love it, and your buddy will like it too… probably.  
**Me** : Oh, I’m sure we will. Thanks, Sam, and good luck.  
**Sam** : Thanks, man.

Steve watches his friends as they fly away in the quinjet, and a part of him desperately wishes he was flying with him, desperately wishes that he could be there to make sure they would all be safe.

"Sir," says Jarvis when the loud rumbling of the jet fades away. "Mr. Barnes is awake."

"How long?" Steve asks.

"14 minutes and 16 seconds, Mr. Rogers. He is presently using the shower in your apartment. I did not want to interrupt earlier, as it was not urgent."

"Thanks, Jarvis," Steve says as he steps back into the elevator. "Can you take me there?"

"Of course, sir."

The soft patter of the shower echoes faintly throughout the apartment when Steve opens the door. He is hanging up his jacket in the closet in his bedroom when he hears the water shut off. Steve wanders back into his living room and sits down on the couch, picking up a book and thumbing through it until he finds where he last left off, trying to appear calm, though he doesn't even notice Bucky approaching until the man speaks.

"Morning, Steve."

Steve jumps in his seat.

"Sorry," Bucky says. "I'm quiet when I walk--part of being a good Asset."

Steve cringes. "No it's all right, just took me by surprise is all. Good morning." Steve’s eyes finally register Bucky’s appearance and his heart skips a beat. Bucky's long, wet hair is slicked back from his face, and there are still a few water drops trailing down his chest towards the towel that is tied around his waist. Steve flushes and meets Bucky’s eyes quickly, confused and surprised by his response to seeing his friend like this.

"Do you feel better?" Steve asks.

"Asset is cleaned and in optimal functioning condition,” the rigid voice leaves Bucky’s lips like he’s copying a robot’s words. “Asset requires clothing."

Steve freezes. All he can hear is the blood rushing through his head and his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Steve tries to remember to breathe and ignore the mechanical response, attempting to focus on Bucky’s last sentence.

"Of course… there are clean clothes in my closet. Take whatever you like, God knows none of it fits me right now," Steve says, his voice dry but eyes damp. With difficulty, Steve tries to act like Bucky didn’t just treat him like a Hydra officer.

"Thanks," Bucky says, unknowing of the way his eyes glazed over and how his body became so rigid when he fell back into the Asset.

Steve swallows the lump in his throat with a struggle. His heart aches in his chest. “I’ll get the clothes you had in medical up here later today.”

“Actually, I only have the one I wore yesterday. Everything down in medical was hospital slacks,” Bucky says, and it’s like he’s his old self again. “I don’t want to feel like I’m a patient anymore, like I need help.”

But you do still need help, Steve wants to say. I want to help you, Buck. He bites his tongue and agrees, “Sure, whatever you want.” He pauses, deciding to change the subject. “Are you hungry?”

Bucky nods in thought. "I could eat."

 

***

 

“This is the Avengers common floor,” says Steve. “You could probably live here if you really wanted to, actually. The living room is on the left. The shelves on either side of the television have all the movies you could ever ask for, which is helpful for me since I feel like I’m always catching up. The kitchen is over here,” Steve walks to his right as he talks, and Bucky follows a few steps behind him, taking in the great openness of the floor. “It took me a while to figure out how to use all of the appliances, especially since Tony’s added his own features here and there, but they’re very helpful.” Steve walks up to the microwave and points at each of the buttons as he lists them. “These are made especially for popcorn, pizza… you can even customize your own heating time—”

“Steve,” Bucky’s faint voice makes Steve’s head turn around quickly. Bucky’s complexion is pale and his blue eyes are wide.

“Sorry, I get a little carried away sometimes,” Steve says, instantly apologetic. “Maybe we should sit down.”

Bucky nods his head and shuffles forward. He sits in one of the stools and leans his elbows on the dark granite in front of him that serves as the bar.

“What do you feel like eating?” Steve says slower and more gently. He’s excited to share this new world with Bucky--more than excited, he can hardly believe it’s even happening--but he has to remind himself that even though Bucky has seen technology of this era, he wasn’t in the state of mind that he is now. It’ll take time, and Steve needs to make that as easy as possible for his friend. Finding the balance between pushing Bucky and walking on eggshells is what Steve is going to have to try and figure out.

“I…” Bucky says. “I don’t know what I like anymore.”

“Oh,” Steve says. His heart hurts a little when Bucky says that. “Well, what about pancakes? You used to love them.” Bucky nods, and Steve smiles and goes to the pantry. While he mixes in the wet ingredients from the refrigerator, Steve glances up at Bucky. Bucky is so concentrated on the spoon in Steve’s hand as it slowly stirs the mix that Steve doesn’t bother breaking the quietness in the kitchen but instead turns towards the stove and turns on one of the front burners.

The longer Steve stands at the stovetop, the more he can feel the ache in his bones and the tension growing in his shoulders. The weight of his body fighting against itself and the heaviness of his emotions are almost too much. He sighs and shakes his head a little, trying to loosen the tension in his shoulders. He needs to be happy; he needs to be optimistic and hopeful for Bucky. This is for his friend, who, after all these years, he is able to see and touch and talk to again. He can deal with his own problems after Bucky is okay.

Steve flips the last pancake over in the pan and grins in satisfaction: it’s perfectly golden. Steve stacks the pancakes onto two plates, turns the stove off, and sits on the stool beside Bucky. Bucky’s blue eyes widen a little, and he looks like he’s about to start drooling as he shoves the first pancake into his mouth. The next three on his plate disappear right before Steve’s eyes in a matter of minutes.

“I guess they turned out all right then?” Steve chuckles. It feels good to laugh, even if the sound strains his lungs a little. Bucky nods. “I was thinking that I could show you around the tower afterwards?” Steve suggests.

“Sure,” Bucky says with a small smile.

After breakfast, the two take the elevator down a few floors to Tony and Bruce’s lab. The sliding plexiglass doors opened automatically with a faint swish as Steve steps towards them. The doors to Bruce’s section of the lab are closed, which is unusual as Tony is often the one who prohibits access to his workspace when he’s not there.

“Mr. Banner has asked me to secure his lab to ensure the safety of those in the building,” says Jarvis as if he had been reading Steve’s mind, though for all Steve knows, that could be true.

“Has Tony done the same?” Steve asks.

“Sir has asked me to maintain the security of the suits and other weapons of the Avengers, but his general workspace is open to visitors,” Jarvis replies.

“What is that?” Bucky whispers into Steve’s ear. The hairs on his neck rise from the warmth of Bucky’s breath and a small shiver runs down Steve’s spine.

“If I may,” Jarvis interrupts as Steve turns to Bucky to explain. “Welcome to Avengers Tower, Mr. Barnes. I am Jarvis, Mr. Tony Stark’s artificial intelligence system designed to assist him and aid in the functioning of the tower. If there is any way I can assist you, Mr. Barnes, I would be happy to do so.”

“Oh,” is all Bucky says. Steve looks up at Bucky’s face with slight concern only to see that he’s wearing an expression like he’s trying very hard to remember something.

“Bucky?” Steve asks. Bucky jerks his head down to look at Steve, but behind his eyes, Bucky seems distant and his face drawn into a sort of pout.

“I’ve… met one of those before,” Bucky mumbles, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to sort through the information his brain is receiving..

“One of what?” Steve asks gently.

“A voice--a voice without a face.”

“I believe Mr. Barnes is referring to me, Mr. Rogers. I may remind him of a certain intelligence programming he previously worked for.” Even with the lack of expression in Jarvis voice, the way Steve heard the AI’s words felt eerily human. Jarvis’ tone was hinting and his emphasis of the words ‘certain intelligence’ gave away what he was referring to. Zola.

Bucky shudders beside Steve as if he heard Zola’s name echoing in Steve’s head and says in a slightly strained voice, “I want to go.”

“Sure, pal,” Steve says, not unhappy about leaving the sudden heaviness that has settled in the lab.

This isn’t how Steve wanted to introduce Bucky to Jarvis. This isn’t how Steve wanted to introduce Bucky to the rest of Avengers Tower. Steve feels guilty even though he never had any intention of triggering Bucky. He wants to get this right, and if he fails, well, he doesn’t want to think about the outcome. He knows that Bucky is trying because Dr. Abbot had assured Steve that Bucky has made incredible progress since his therapy had started, though the adjustment of Bucky moving in with Steve had been a little strange for both of them.

Above all, though, Steve finally has his friend back. He can see Bucky, touch him, and feel his presence, but the friendship they had had before the war was wilting. It wasn’t as strong as it used to be, and deep in Steve’s heart, he was afraid that he might never really get his friend back.

 

***

 

Steve takes Bucky to the gym next in an attempt to turn the mood around. The gym is one of the largest floors in Avengers Tower because it was designed to accommodate any individual’s specific needs and style of exercise. A well-used punching bag hangs in the middle of the room from the ceiling. It’s lumpy and torn slightly, and Steve approaches it cautiously as if it will suddenly swing off its hook and tackle him to the ground. He runs his slim fingers over the tear in the bag’s side, and a small handful of sand brushes past his fingers and falls to the floor. Steve feels a lump form in his throat, and he tries to swallow the sorrow that is quickly filling him, threatening to spill over.

“Steve?” Bucky says behind the smaller man. He’s only a few feet away, but his voice rings faintly in Steve’s ears. “What’s wrong?”

Steve sniffs. “Huh?” he says as he turns around.

“I know it’s been a while, but don’t think I can’t tell when my best friend is hurting,” Bucky says. Bucky’s statement sends a whole new round of emotions, and the fact that it’s the longest sentence Bucky’s said that day adds to it. He sounds like himself, whatever that means anymore.

“Nothing, really. I just miss hitting these things,” Steve says as he lightly punches the bag beside him. “If I was really worked up over something, I used to be able to come here and knock four bags off the hook before I got tired.”

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest and shuffles his feet. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Stevie. All of this. I’m sorry.” Steve knows that Bucky is talking about himself as the Asset too and Steve cringes. He should’ve held back, shouldn’t have put his own grief on his friend when Bucky is already dealing with so much.

“I’m sorry too. It’s no one’s fault,” Steve says. Then, in an attempt to lighten the mood, he quickly changes the topic. “Do you want to go back to our room?” Bucky nods his head.

On the way upstairs in the elevator, Steve remembers Sam’s text from earlier. “Sam told me about this movie before he left--it’s called Grease, and he said we both might like it.”

“What’s the film about?” says Bucky.

“Singing and dancing, I think. I don’t know if it’s any good, but I guess it’s a classic.”

“Sounds good,” says Bucky.

“Great,” Steve replies, and he can feel his weakening muscles almost cheer at the thought of resting for an hour or two. “Jarvis?” Steve says, and he feels Bucky tense beside him, and at that, Steve makes a mental note to avoid talking with Jarvis unless it’s necessary.

“I’ve already queued up the film for you in your quarters, Mr. Rogers,” Jarvis states, his voice echoing in the elevator.

“Thanks.”

Grease might just be the best thing to happen to Steve since this whole reverse-serum thing knocked him off of his feet. When they’re watching the school dance, Steve glances over to Bucky and sees the larger man leaning forward slightly in his seat, intently analyzing the movements of the people on the screen. Then, Bucky relaxes back in the chair with a satisfied look on his face as though he’d found what he’d been searching for.

“We used to do that, didn’t we?” Bucky asks with excitement, meeting Steve’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Steve says, hope rising in his chest. “But I’d say _you_ were more of a dancer than _me_.”

Bucky laughs, and the noise almost startles Steve, it’s so unexpected. It’s fantastic. There’s a pause as the scene finishes, and then Bucky says, “Was I like him? Danny, I mean.”

Steve thinks for a second before replying. “You were, I guess. But you were--are nicer than Danny. You would never treat a lady like Danny treated Sandy.”

“Good,” Bucky says. Then, “There was this one girl, cute as could be. I met her during summer break too,” Bucky says with a ghost of a smirk. “What was her name?”

“Judy,” Steve answers, a warm smile blossoming on his face at the shared memory. “She had bright blue eyes and short brown hair.”

“Curves too,” Bucky says with a nod. “Curves that you couldn’t take your eyes off of.”

“Not that you’d want to,” Steve says. He’s almost overwhelmed with joy in that moment as he watches his friend’s attention drift back to the screen. Bucky is remembering things already as if they happened only yesterday. It’s wonderful and amazing, and the struggles that presented themselves earlier in the day start to fade to the back of Steve’s mind. But for some reason unknown to Steve, something in his heart twinges like jealousy. It’s ridiculous, but Steve can’t shake the feeling of it for a while. Eventually, he forgets about Judy and her blue eyes and curves, forgets the way Bucky looked at her and the way he remembered her so fondly. He shoves the feeling to the side, locking away the emotion into the far corners of his brain.

The movie ends a while later, and they’re both too tired to think. Bucky mumbles something about brushing his teeth before drifting off to Steve’s bedroom, and Steve can’t think about anything other than the wonderful loveseat he’s lying on.

“Sir,” Jarvis says softly, and Steve groans. “I only wanted to inform you that the Avengers are in good health and spirits. Director Fury has asked them to wait until tomorrow for the attack, to which Mr. Barton replied with some frustration and using words I’d prefer not to repeat.”

“Thanks for the update, Jarvis,” Steve says.

“Of course, Mr. Rogers. Goodnight.”

 

***

 

That night, Steve is plagued by a series of nightmares.

_“Bucky fell, Peg, and I didn’t do enough to save him. He fell because of me.”_

_“Steve, you can’t put all of this on yourself. I won’t let you.” Peggy stands in the corner of the room they’re in with her hands on her hips. “Listen to me when I say it wasn’t your fault.”_

_There’s a loud crash outside of the room followed by screaming, and Steve lurches up from his chair as Peggy whips out her revolver. Several shots are fired, and the yelling ends abruptly. Steve jogs over to Peggy and grips her elbow, meaning to drag her out of harm’s way if that’s what it comes to._

_What walks through the door next makes Steve’s stomach drop._

_“Bucky?” Steve gasps at the same time Peggy says, “James?”_

_Bucky is dressed in the same uniform he was wearing on the train, but his left arm is missing, and blood pours from the wound. He has a rifle in his remaining hand, and he aims it at Steve and Peggy._

_“You left me,” Bucky snarls. “You left me to die.”_

_Steve raises his hands as he chokes out, “Please. Bucky, I’m so sorry. I thought you were dead.”_

_“Not quite, Stevie. But I sure as hell thought I would be when you let me fall.” Bucky glares at Steve and fires two shots in the air. Plaster falls from the ceiling._

_“James, it wasn’t his fault,” Peggy pleads, her gun pointed steadily on Bucky’s abdomen._

_Bucky’s eyes skirt from Steve to Peggy and he grins menacingly. “Are you saying it was yours, lady? ‘Cause I got no problem blowing both of your heads off right here.”_

_“Bucky, no!” Steve screams as Bucky fires at Peggy. She collapses to the wooden floor, and Steve immediately crouches over her, trying to desperately to stop the bleeding. As he places his hands together over her wound, Steve feels a sharp pain at the back of his head as he’s pulled to his feet by his hair._

_“You left me,” Bucky repeats, letting his grip on Steve’s hair relax and instead shoving the gun up under Steve’s chin. “You let me fall.”_

_“Bucky—“ Steve gurgles before a loud shot rings in Steve’s ears and everything goes black._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are changing and Mrs. Wilson makes the best potatoes.

Steve stands in front of the bathroom mirror, his chin barely hovering above its frame. He squints at himself, eyeing the way his cheekbones dip into his face and the way his eyes have sunken into their sockets. The artwork underneath his eyes is something to be admired--deep shades of purple masking blue veins. He looks sickly, and he has to remind himself that that is exactly what he is. His bones feel weak as he stands there, staring, his muscles already growing tired. It doesn't help that he hasn't slept well recently either. Sleep is the only time this version of himself can rest and recover. Now he isn't even getting that.

Steve sniffs and winces, his nose dry and bright pink from the cold that doesn’t ever seem to leave his side. He takes his toothbrush out of the holder and squeezes a hefty amount of toothpaste onto it. The mint burns the canker sores on the sides of his tongue, and he has to fight the urge to spit it out.

There is nothing sweet about him like this. There is no part of him being so weak and helpless that is even remotely attractive. Steve remembers the way the girls looked at him at the dances, the bars, the shops. With pity-filled doe eyes, they'd offer to help him if he stopped in the middle of the intersection to cough up a lung. He’d always refused--there was no need to put this chronic hell on anyone else. Steve Rogers took pity from no one, no matter who was offering it. He wasn't having it. Sometimes he wondered if that was slowly breaking him.

Steve makes eye contact with his reflection again after rinsing out his mouth, and he sees something different in his eyes. Determination. Perseverance. He needs to be strong for the Avengers who will have to take down an entire arms dealing group without him--not that he doubts them, but he feels incredibly out of the loop. He has to be strong for Bucky, of course. Steve's number one reason to keep holding himself together is for his friend. If he can’t be strong, then how can he expect Bucky to? Bucky has been through so much more than Steve can ever imagine. The slim file Natasha had given him before Project Insight left a lot for the mind to wonder about since SHIELD knew so little about the Winter Soldier, and Steve can’t help feeling guilt wash over him as he dresses himself. While he had slept for 70 years, peaceful in the naivety that the ice had given him, his best friend fought through hell. How was it fair for the universe to not allow Steve to save Bucky? What cruel thing had Steve done to be unable to stop his friend’s suffering and only be able to help Bucky now after the damage was done? Steve knows the answer. He sighs as he tightens the belt around his protruding hipbones. The universe didn't want him anywhere near Bucky after Steve let him fall.

He failed to save his best friend. The words from the dream ring in his ears.

_"You let me fall.”_

 

***

 

The elevator chimes, and Bucky slips Steve a small smile as he steps out, which Steve returns. He had just escaped the suffocating weight he’d felt in his apartment and had fled to the kitchen to clear his head. As Bucky comes closer, he notices the larger man’s gait is relaxed this morning. It helps some of the worry subside to see that.

“The coffee’s still hot if you want some,” Steve says, nodding his head toward the general area of the counter and cabinets by the dishwasher. Bucky nods, walking over to fill his mug with the black liquid and settles down next to Steve at the kitchen table. He sips the coffee tentatively to test its heat.

“Are you okay from yesterday?” Bucky asks quietly, but not so much that Steve can’t hear.

“I’m feeling better, I guess,” Steve responds with a soft smile--Bucky’s only been back with him for a few days, going on a week, but he’s already taking care of him.

Bucky nods again, taking a sip of his coffee, and Steve feels like this would be the part where Bucky would ruffle his hair and press him close to his side. He pushes the melancholy feeling aside and thinks instead of the fact that Bucky is _right next to him_ , not dead or being tortured anymore.

"You look good today, Buck," Steve notices out loud. It's true, too; Bucky's hair is shining from the shower he had earlier, damp strands dripping every so often onto his sweatshirt. His eyes are bright blue, ready for whatever the day will bring. He looks handsome, his scruff trimmed evenly and short. It makes him look a lot older than he looks in the pictures at the museum, but it suits him well, Steve thinks.

“Thanks,” Bucky replies, a renewed soft grin across his face. “I think you do too, even though you look kinda sick, pal. How’s your throat?”

Bucky hadn’t really talked this much before, and Steve was slow to react for a moment before he came to his senses. “I always had something before the war.”

"I guess so... that’s one I do remember--you being sick all the time," Bucky says, his eyes flashing at the memory.

Steve lands a small, light punch to Bucky’s side. "Don't pretend like I asked you to. I always refused help."

"No," Bucky says, more serious now. "I don’t think I ever minded taking care of you, even if you were stubborn." The way Bucky is holding Steve's gaze causes a blush to bloom across Steve's nose and cheeks, and he has to duck his head to avoid another round of teasing for it.

"Sirs, if I may interrupt, the Avengers are on their way back to the Tower," Jarvis says, his voice filling the room.

"They're not still on the mission?" Steve asks.

"They are indeed, Mr. Rogers, but Director Fury has changed strategies. He has decided to gather more intelligence on the group before infiltration.”

"Thank you, Jarvis."

"Mr. Barnes also has a session with Dr. Abbot scheduled for nine o’clock, sir."

“I’ll be there,” says Bucky. Steve looks at Bucky’s face, searching for any sort of hesitation when speaking to the AI but he can’t find any. Maybe Bucky is warming up to Jarvis too. He feels Bucky squeeze his shoulder before removing his arm.

"I should get going before they get back," Bucky says a little stiffly.

"Bucky, I don’t want you to feel obligated to meeting them," Steve says. “When you’re ready, I’ll introduce you. You don’t have to rush anything.”

"Dr. Abbot says the sooner I introduce myself, the more relaxed everyone will be," Bucky deflates, his opinion about that clear on his face.

"Dr. Abbot is a smart man, but don’t let him push you into something like this if you don’t want to do it," Steve reassures. "When you’re ready, though, I'll be right by your side." Before the war, it was always Bucky reassuring him. ‘The girls will love you, Stevie. You might not be as big Henry, but you’re a hell of a lot smarter. You can help with the war right here at home,’ he’d say. Even if Steve didn’t like to think about it, the Winter Soldier shared that characteristic with the old Bucky Barnes. The Soldier was always sure of himself during missions, though in a much colder way than Bucky had ever been. But now, Steve has to be the sure one, the one who promises to always be there. He doesn’t mind being that for Bucky. In fact, it feels almost like he’s paying a well overdue debt.

"Yeah, I know you will," Bucky replies with a ghost of a grin. "I've just done a lot of wrong against all of them."

Steve waits a few seconds before responding to find his words, wanting them to be truthful but helpful at the same time.

"You have," Steve nods. "But you've also come a long way from then. You are not the Winter Soldier anymore, and he was the one who did those things." Bucky ducks his head at the name. "You're Bucky Barnes. They know that, even if they're still trying to figure out how much of you they want to trust. They know that I trust you with my life, and no matter what Hydra made you do, I know that it wasn’t my best friend. It wasn't you."

"I know that," Bucky says. "But these hands-," he flexes his fingers, and his metal arm whirs quietly at the motion. “These hands killed people. It doesn’t matter if I didn’t want to, I still did it.”

"It wasn’t you,” Steve says again as he takes Bucky’s metal hand in his own. “Hydra created a machine with you trapped inside," Steve says. Bucky shudders and stares down at his hand in Steve’s. “You’re going to get through this.” Bucky meets Steve’s eyes, and a moment that passes between them, heavy with emotion. Before Steve can register it, a pair of arms blurs through the air, and Steve is enveloped in a tight hug. Letting loose a sigh at the contact, Steve deflates into Bucky’s chest.

“Thanks, Stevie,” says Bucky, his words muffled by Steve’s hair.

 

***

 

"There he is! Captain America!"

Steve smiles. "Hey, Clint."

Clint jogs down the ramp of the quinjet with his signature half-smirk, half-smile on his face. He slings the arrows off his back and walks past Steve to the elevator. Tony steps onto the concrete roof next and immediately approaches Steve.

"Steve, I've been meaning to talk to you-"

As Tony rambles on about a new design for Steve's suit that he thought of in his time away, Steve catches Bruce's eye and nods in the man's direction. Bruce returns the gesture before calling Tony's name to let Steve breathe a little.

"Steve!" A voice calls over the whir of the quinjet's blades. Steve turns his eyes back to the jet and watches as Nat hops off its platform and makes her way over to him. “How are you?" she asks after a quick hug.

"Good. There’s been a few rough patches, but I think things are finally looking up,” Steve says with a smile that he can't help but let spread over his face. “And you? Jarvis explained a little, but why are you back so soon?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t miss me, Rogers,” Nat jokes. “Fury wants all our bases to be covered before we infiltrate the group. They had more members than we anticipated, and he was worried that if we went ahead with attack, we’d suffer more damages than they would. It won’t be long before we leave again though, since Fury doesn’t want the group to get even larger.”

“Smart,” Steve says with a nod. He pauses, and she searches his face for the source of his sudden onslaught of nerves. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot,” she says, crossing her arms.

“I’d ask someone else if I could, but I want you to do this. I trust you to do this,” Steve says.

“You’re worrying me, Steve,” says Nat.

“I want you to train Bucky.”

Natasha’s response is to lean back on her heel, her expression inviting Steve to elaborate.

“I don’t want him forgetting how to protect himself,” Steve explains. “I need to know he’s safe, and if he keeps up his training I’ll know that I don’t always have to be there.”

“What about my safety? Also, what if he doesn’t want this?” Natasha asks, leaving out the obvious question of what Steve’s presence would change in the first place. Steve knows her better than a lot of people, and he’s sure that she can manage Bucky, but her concerns are valid.

“I know I’m not a doctor, and if he doesn’t want to, I won’t pressure him, but I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think this would be good for him. I can ask Tony to build a room in the gym just for you and him. That way if something happens... if he switches to the Asset, you can protect yourself.”

“I know,” Nat says. “I don’t need a special room, though; Tony would never let me live that down.”

Steve laughs. “No, he probably wouldn’t.”

“Okay, I’ll train Barnes,” says Nat. “But only because it’s you.”

“Thank you, Nat,” says Steve, expression earnest. “Really.”

She nods and leaves Steve by himself, swaying her hips as she meets Clint at the elevator.

“Hey, Steve!” Sam struts across the roof toward him with his wings still on his back but his red goggles resting on his forehead.

“Sam, it’s good to see you again! How’d the mission go?” Steve asks.

“It didn’t,” Sam laughs.

“That’s what Nat said. Maybe I’ll be all healed up the next time you guys ship out,” Steve says hopefully. Sam pats his shoulder in a friendly way, but with anyone else, it would’ve come off as condescending.

“I hope so, I really do,” says Sam, flashing a grin. The two step inside the elevator as the doors slide open.

“I’d love to talk, but I’m going to see Bucky; his therapy session is almost done,” Steve says.

“Actually, Mr. Barnes’ appointment with Dr. Abbot has been extended an extra hour,” Jarvis says inside the elevator.

“Is everything okay, Jarvis?” Steve asks, his worry immediately evident on his face.

“Indeed, Mr. Rogers,” says Jarvis. “Mr. Barnes only wanted the extended time to discuss the past week he’s had with you.”

“Okay. Thanks, Jarvis,” Steve says even though he still feels a little worried about the whole situation. He hopes that he provided for Bucky the best he could in the past few days that they’ve been together. He hopes that that was enough.

“Well, I guess you’re free for dinner,” Sam says, looking down at Steve.

Steve shrugs. “I guess I am. What do you have in mind?”

 

***

 

Sam's mother lives in a small one-story house. It's older and missing a few shingles, but it looks like home. The flowerbeds by the windows are filled with tulips and roses decorated by the few drops from the rain earlier that day, though despite the welcoming appearance of the home, Steve can't help but feel nervous. Sam has talked so much about his 'ma' in the past, and Steve doesn't want to be a disappointment to such an amazing woman.

As if sensing Steve's nerves, Sam pats Steve's back and says, "She's going to love you."

Steve looks up at Sam's smiling face with a deep breath and nods. "Okay, let's go."

They walk up to the door, and before Sam is even finished knocking, it opens. The woman standing in the doorway would be several heads shorter than Steve if he were his normal height. She wears a dark purple cardigan and a small silver necklace with a heart on it stamped with the letter S. Her black hair hangs at her shoulders in loose curls, and her smile lights up her entire face.

"Samuel!" she exclaims and envelopes her son in a hug. "I didn't know if I'd ever see you again after you joined the Avengers."

"It's not official, Ma," Sam laughs.

"You are Captain America's right hand man, Sam, and that is official enough for me," Mrs. Wilson says.

Sam laughs again and gestures to Steve. "I don't know about that, but you can ask him yourself, Ma."

Without a second of thought, Mrs. Wilson wraps her arms around Steve's body shoulders and squeezes him gently. When she steps back, she says, "It's wonderful to meet you, Steve. Sam has spoken so often about you."

"Ma," Sam protests with a sigh.

"All good things, I hope?" Steve replies without missing a beat.

"Of course!" Mrs. Wilson says. "Now come inside, you two; it's chilly out here."

Steve follows Sam inside and steps into a short hallway that serves as an entryway. Mrs. Wilson offers to take his jacket that hangs loosely on his thin body, but Steve politely declines and hangs it in the closet himself. As he ventures down the hallway and into the living room, he smiles fondly at the pictures that hang on the wall. There are pictures of Sam throughout his school years--an adorably chubby little boy who’s missing his front teeth turns into a dorky kid with limbs too long for the rest of his body and then a young man in uniform with a grown up bit of scruff on his face but the same childlike sense of excitement and wonder in his eyes. There are pictures of Sam with his parents too, but he's much younger in the ones with his father than the more recent ones with his mother. In one of Steve's immediate favourites, Sam looks to be about twelve, and he's playing baseball with his father in what looks like their backyard.

The living room is painted a soft beige colour, but the furniture is quite the opposite from the neutral tones of the walls. The couches are dark green and have several multi-coloured quilts draped over them. The small coffee table in front of the loveseat has a glass face and a mahogany frame with all sorts of little details carved into the wood. There is a bouquet of flowers in the centre of the table, placed neatly in a vase and just starting to show the signs of dying, the daisies wilting on the edges.

"Welcome, Steve. I'm honoured to have you in my home," Mrs. Wilson says.

"The pleasure is all mine, ma'am," Steve says with a blush.

"Oh, don't call me that," Mrs. Wilson says with a flick of her wrist. "Makes me feel old."

Sam laughs. "I told you he was polite, didn't I?"

"Stop acting like you know everything, Samuel," Mrs. Wilson teases, wagging a finger in Sam's direction.

"Sorry, Ma," Sam mumbles, but Steve can tell he's only feigning being upset. "Can I help you in the kitchen?" Sam asks.

"No, no. Sit with your friend at the dining table. I'll bring the food to you."

"I’ll help too," Steve offers, knowing that the extra exertion is bound to fatigue him.

"Well if you insist," says Mrs. Wilson. "Thank you, Steve."

Steve’s mouth starts watering the moment he sits down at the table, and judging by the quick glance he shares with Sam, the other man is feeling the same. Mrs. Wilson asks Sam to say grace before they eat, and Steve adds a silent thanks for bringing Bucky back to him just before Sam says amen.

“Everything looks delicious, Mrs. Wilson,” says Steve as he scoops a spoonful of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“Thank you. I hope it tastes as good as you think it looks,” Mrs. Wilson smiles. She passes the vegetables to Sam who’s already sneaking in bites of potatoes as he piles more food onto his plate.

“It’s amazing just as always, Ma,” Sam pronounces.

Steve finishes his plate by coating his roast beef with a hefty pour of gravy. If he thought the food looked good before, then he never expected how delicious it would taste. Everything was cooked for just the right amount of time with the perfect amount of spices and flavouring. The food at Avengers Tower was of the utmost quality, as Tony insisted he would never serve anything less than that, but Mrs. Wilson’s home cooking was to die for. It reminded Steve of his own mother, though she was never able to prepare such an extraordinary spread as Mrs. Wilson had, but the food they each made felt like home.

“Thank you very much for having me for dinner, Mrs. Wilson. I never meant intrude, but if it means I get to eat food like this, I’ll intrude anytime,” Steve says after swallowing his first bite of roast beef.

“If it means I get to have such wonderful company like yourself, then please intrude all you like, Steven,” Mrs. Wilson says, and Steve smiles widely in response.

After dinner, Mrs. Wilson brings out apple pie, homemade pastry and all. Sam makes a joke about Captain America and apple pie, but Steve is so engrossed with gooey deliciousness of his own slice that he hardly even notices. Despite the taste, Steve barely finishes his second slice even though Sam has made his way through four already. Besides the illnesses, the loss of appetite Steve is experiencing is excruciating, especially when he and Sam both know he could’ve finished the pie all by himself a few weeks ago.

The bittersweet goodbye comes after both boys have helped Mrs. Wilson wash the dishes. “Thank you again, Mrs. Wilson, for everything,” says Steve.

“Don’t mention it. For all the talking Sam’s done about you, I already consider you as a second son,” Mrs. Wilson says. She kisses him and Sam on the cheeks and waves them goodbye with a beaming smile. “Samuel!” she calls when they’re halfway down the walkway.

Sam turns around. “I better hear from you soon, Sam. A mother needs to stay updated on her superhero son, all right?”

Sam laughs and shakes his head. “You got it, Ma.”

Mrs. Wilson only lives a few blocks from the Tower, but Sam insists on driving back for Steve’s sake. Steve appreciates the gesture, even though all he wants to do is walk in the cool autumn air and listen to the leaves rustle by his feet as they’re carried by the breeze.

Sam stops at the black Ferrari Tony had nervously lent him for the trip, but instead of unlocking the car and getting inside, he pauses by the hood.

“I’m glad you came tonight, man,” he says.

“Me too,” Steve replies. “I needed to get out of that tower.”

“I know. That’s why invited you. I needed you to see that there are things other than your friend that you need to focus on,” says Sam. The words come out slow and gentle, and Sam’s soft gaze helps, but they still sting.

“Your mother is a wonderful woman, Sam, but she’s not more important to me than Bucky,” says Steve, his voice a little tense.

“I didn’t say that,” says Sam. It should sound defensive, but Sam remains calm as he approaches Steve. “I only meant that you can’t always be worrying about him. His doctor cleared him to stay with you, right? That means the guy’s doing a lot better than you think he is.”

Steve pauses and dips his head as he tries to hold in a sniff. “What if I hurt him? What if I do or say something I’m not supposed to and it sends him back to the Winter Soldier?” Steve shudders at the idea that he might not be good for Bucky, that he might be the one thing that can’t help Bucky at all.

“That isn’t going to happen, you hear me?” Sam says solemnly. “There is going to be a lot of difficulty with Barnes, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t way better off than he used to be. You saved him, Steve, don’t forget that. You have your friend back.”

Steve smiles a sad smile. “It doesn’t feel like that, Sam.”

Sam searches Steve’s eyes for something Steve knows he doesn’t want to share right now. “What happened?” Sam asks tentatively.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine, it’s nothing.”

“What happened, Steve?” Sam asks with more force.

“I just...  I had a dream the other night of Bucky,” Steve mumbles. Sam waits patiently, his hands in his pockets. “I was talking with Peggy, like I did after h-he fell. He walks in, and he’s saying all these things that I’d already been saying to myself. And then he kills Peg and--”

Immediately, Sam steps forward and squeezes Steve in a tight embrace. Steve’s body shakes against Sam’s as he cries. His thin fingers grip the jacket Sam is wearing so hard that his knuckles turn white. He feels horrible, dumping all of his grief onto his friend likes this, but he can’t seem to help it. It’s like someone finally fixed the broken faucet and now the water is rushing out the tap. After a while, Steve pulls apart and wipes his puffy eyes on his sleeve.

“I’m sorry-” he starts.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I’m sorry I hadn’t asked sooner,” Sam says. “I’m sorry you feel like you can’t tell anybody about all the pain you’re hiding. I’m sorry. But I’m here now.”

“I know,” says Steve.

“You can say ‘I know’ all you want, but I really want you to get it, all right? Don’t forget I used to counsel people just like you. I used to have dreams of Riley all the time, and hell, I still do more than I’d like to,” says Sam in a heavy voice. “But the point is that I know what you’re going through, and I’m here.”

  
Steve nods because he’s pretty sure if he tries to talk right now he’s going to start crying again and that would be far too exhausting and unfair for Sam. As they both slide into the leather seats of the Ferrari and Sam drives away from his mother’s house, Steve can’t help but feel like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. It can only get better from here, right?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is unaware that he's hopelessly in love and Bucky meets the gang.

It’s bright and sunny Sunday morning when Bucky has his first training lesson with Natasha, though it’s more of a refresher than an actual teaching and learning situation. Steve enters the gym with a heart filled with optimism, it’s a brand new day after all and even if Bucky is shuffling begrudgingly behind him, Steve knows that this is exactly what Bucky needs. Nat is standing in the center of the wrestling mats with her hands on her hips. Her hair is tied up in tight ponytail, and she’s wearing black shorts and a matching black tank top. Beside her is an impressive display of weapons ranging from 5mm guns to katanas.

“Hello boys,” she says.

Bucky looks warily at her, then directs his gaze towards the weapons, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

“I’m sure you’ve seen and probably used most of these before, Barnes, but I wanted to make sure we cover our bases,” says Natasha. “I want to assess your capabilities with each weapon before we go to hand-to-hand combat and you get to use your own weapon.” She flicks her gaze to Bucky’s metal arm, and he flexes his fist, causing the plates in his forearm to shift. His only verbal response is a grunt which she takes as consent to proceed with the training.

Steve steps out of their way, backing up towards the wall on the far side of the room as Nat asks Bucky which weapon he’d rather start with. He chooses the nunchucks. Bucky firmly plants his bare feet on the mats before whipping them around his body, creating a defence position. When he shifts his weight to forward towards Nat, she steps cleanly out of the way of the nunchucks as they fly past her.

“Good,” she says. Bucky glances back at Steve, eyes filled with uncertainty. Steve gives him a thumbs up, reassuring him that if something happens, if he reverts, then Steve will be right here to bring him back. “Next,” Natasha sighs, which brings Buck’s attention back to her. He picks up the katana next, weighing it in his hands and sliding his metal thumb over the blade. It screeches loudly, but Steve is the only one who jumps at the noise.

“Have you ever used one of those before, Buck?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “I don’t remember, but it feels like I have. It feels good in my hands.”

Nat snaps her fingers, and Bucky glares at her. “Anytime, Barnes. This is about you and me, remember?”

Bucky swipes the air with the sword so quickly that Steve almost misses it entirely. He walks towards Nat, cutting through the air as she dodges his swings. Steve holds his breath until Bucky is done, which he immediately regrets as it throws him into a coughing fit. Bucky stops and drops the sword before hurrying over to Steve.

“You okay, pal?” he asks as Steve finishes coughing.

“Fine, Buck,” Steve croaks out.

“Good,” Bucky murmurs. He holds Steve’s gaze as he rubs the smaller man’s arm with his flesh hand. Steve’s eyes are watery from all the coughing and a tear runs down his cheek as he grabs his inhaler from his pocket. Bucky wipes the tear away with his hand and Steve jerks his head up, his complexion reddening.

“Steve,” Nat says from across the room. Bucky turns around and steps out of Steve’s line of vision. “I think it would be best if you go.”

“What?” Steve asks and then takes a deep breath from his inhaler.

“You’re distracting him,” she says, gesturing to Bucky.

“Oh, sorry,” Steve apologizes and hastily makes his way to the door. Bucky watches him intently as he crosses the room. Nat has a look in her eyes that says ‘I saw that, you know’, which doesn’t help with Steve’s embarrassment in the slightest. “Sorry,” Steve says again as he leaves. He walks towards the elevator, his heart pounding in his chest from a feeling that he refuses to acknowledge. When Bucky had looked at him like that and when he’d brushed Steve’s face with his hand to catch the tear. . . well, Steve didn’t want to think about it. He decides that he just needs some fresh air to clear his head, so once he’s inside the elevator, he asks Jarvis to take him to the pool on the fourteenth floor where he’ll hopefully be able to catch his breath.

The sun is at its highest point in the sky when Steve steps out of the elevator and onto the tile that surrounds the pool. He starts towards the white lounge chairs opposite him before he spots two figures sitting at the edge of the pool. He shades his eyes from the sun with his hand to make out the figures and realizes that it’s Tony and Pepper. Pepper is swaying her feet back and forth in the crystal blue water as Tony whispers into her ear. She giggles and swats him away before she sees Steve.

“Steve!” she calls and waves him over.

He walks around the edge of the pool to meet them. “I didn’t think there would be anyone up here, I can go,” he says quickly.

“No, no, stay,” Pepper says. “You’re not interrupting anything.”

Tony makes a great big show of showing he disagrees with the whole ‘not interrupting anything,’ but he agrees with Pepper nonetheless. Steve sits down beside Pepper and rolls up his jeans to dip his toes into the cool water. It shocks him a little at first, but Tony jumps to the rescue.

“Water cold? Jarvis, can you increase the temperature of the pool by say. . . two or three degrees?”

“I’m fine, Tony,” Steve insists.

“Increasing temperature now, sir,” says Jarvis, and Steve’s toes warm in seconds.

“Actually, on second thought, that feels really good.”

“Great,” Tony says with a grin.

“So Steve, I’m assuming you didn’t come for a swim,” Pepper says. “What’s up?”

“I got kicked out of Bucky’s training session with Nat,” Steve says a little grumpily.

“Too bad,” Pepper says. “But now you get to hang out with us.” Pepper glances down at her watch and sighs. “Actually, I have a meeting to get to, but I’m sure Tony is free for a while if you want company.”

“We’ll finish this conversation later, Pep,” Tony calls after her as she makes her way towards the elevator. He winks at her, and she rolls her eyes at his dramatic wink.

“Anyways, Cap,” says Tony. “How do you feel about talking business with me? Maybe with margaritas?”

“Sure, Tony,” says Steve, knowing that Tony will only keep badgering him if he refuses the drinks.

The margaritas are sweet and run down Steve’s throat nice and cool, an instant refresher from the blazing heat of the sun. Tony pulls out his Stark Phone and taps away on it until sliding it into Steve’s free hand. He takes a long sip of his drink before talking.

“Ooo,” he shudders. “Brain freeze. I should work on something that will stop those. . . Jarvis, mark that down in my ideas journal.”

Even though Jarvis is only an AI, he somehow manages to sound somewhat exhausted when he says, “As you wish, sir.”

“Anyways, Cap. What you’re looking at on my phone are my designs for cyborg Barnes’ new arm. After looking into the arm when he first came here, I manufactured his new arm to contain the same weapons that he has now, expect better, obviously,” Tony says and rolls his eyes. “But my design can’t be accessed by Hydra. It has no wireless connections to them whatsoever, not that it did when he came here, since Jarvis immediately shut down all outputs.”

“I’ve done away with the Hydra star for now, unless he wants to keep it,” Tony explains. “I thought we could replace it with the Avengers symbol, or maybe a shield?” Steve blushes, and Tony surprisingly pretends not to notice. “Or it could be blank; it’s up to him really. I’m down for whatever your Bucky chooses.”

“Thank you for this, Tony,” Steve says sincerely.

“Anytime,” says Tony.

A second later, the sound of the elevator doors opening catches both of their attention. Bruce steps out into the sun, shielding his face with his arm. He’s wearing board shorts and he has a towel draped across his neck.

“Going in for a dip, Brucie?” Tony asks. Bruce jumps, not having noticed either of them before.

“I was feeling stressed today, Tony,” he says. “So I thought I’d relax for in the hot tub for a while.”

“On a beautifully hot day like this? And I thought you couldn’t get any weirder, doctor.”

“Then you’re in for a real surprise,” Bruce chuckles. He eases into the hot tub, setting his towel on the edge as he does so. “Did you tell Steve about our progress yet?” Bruce calls over as he settles into the heat of the hot tub.

“No! How could I forget?” Tony gasps. “My dear Steve, we might be able to fix you up sooner than you think!”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Oh indeed,” Tony nods. “Banner and I have decided that we will not be able to recreate the Super Soldier Serum, unfortunately. But, we have discovered that if we blend specific steroids and proteins together as well as dozens of other unpronounceable ingredients, we can create something that will eventually transform you back to how you were with Erskine’s serum.”

“That’s great,” Steve says, a smile creeping across his face.

“Except there might be a bit of a delay,” Bruce calls. “We don’t know which one will work.”

“What does he mean ‘which one?’” Steve asks.

“We’ve created at least fifty or so smoothie serums. I call them that because each of them is a blend of ingredients. It’s cute right? I think so,” rambles Tony. “So, we’re going to have to go one by one to determine which works the best.”

“And when we find the best?” Steve asks.

“Then we’ll inject you with it every other day until you return to normal, or crazy superhero strength and agility normal,” Tony says.

“If I get back to normal and stop with injections, will I go back to this?” Steve gestures to his skinny figure.

“We don’t believe so since your enzymes will burn out any of the remaining reverse-serum until it’s gone, but it is possible,” Tony explains. The worried look Steve gets in his eyes causes Tony to stutter out, “B-but it’s a one percent chance of that actually happening.”

Steve sighs. It might not be ideal, but this is the best case scenario for him right now. “When do we start?”

“Tomorrow,” Tony says enthusiastically, his eyes lighting up.

“All right then,” Steve says. A part of him is looking forward to getting back to how he was as soon as possible. To getting rid of the aches and pains and struggles just from _living_ , but he also thinks that him being this way is helping Bucky. As if on cue, Bucky and Natasha step out onto the pool balcony.

“Hey! The world class masters of espionage have joined us!” Tony calls and waves them over. Natasha happily lies back in a lounge chair behind Steve, but Bucky stands a little ways from the three of them, closer to Bruce in the hot tub, unsure of where he should position himself. Steve thinks that he might be looking for the best vantage point to view everyone at once and anticipate any attacks. This is Bucky’s first official time meeting Tony and Bruce, and Steve wants to make it as positive an experience as possible.

“James?” Bruce says cautiously. He steps out of the hot tub and stands a few feet back from Bucky. “I’m Dr. Bruce Banner. It’s nice to finally meet you, after all Steve’s told us.”

Bucky’s eyes skirt across the floor, avoiding Bruce’s gaze. Bruce doesn’t move, just sticks out his hand and waits. After a few heavy moments where everyone holds their breath, Bucky slowly steps forward. He raises his flesh hand to grip Bruce’s. They shake hands, and Bruce breaks out into a grin which in turn prompts Bucky to let a small smile spread over his face. Bruce lays a hand on Bucky’s back to steer him towards the others, and to Steve’s surprise, Bucky doesn’t retreat; he just lets the doctor guide him. Tony lurches up from the pool to shake Bucky’s hand, and the atmosphere relaxes even more.

Steve and Nat share a relieved look when no one is looking. She joins him by the edge of the pool, dipping her feet into the cool water. “See?” she says. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, looking at Tony as he babbles on about the new arm he’s designing for Bucky, who is smiling politely along. “How was he with you?”

“I don’t doubt that handling the weapons with me and you there made him nervous,” Nat says. “He was confident in the way he moved, though. I was thoroughly impressed, and I don’t say that often.”

“Good; I’m glad,” Steve says.

“We’ll start hand-to-hand combat tomorrow if you want to watch,” she says.

“I thought I was too distracting today,” Steve chuckles.

Nat raises her eyebrows. “You were, but I think he missed you when you left.” Steve blushes, and she leans into him with her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. He missed you, you missed him. That’s all.”

Steve knows that she’s giving him the easy way out of trying to explain what really happened between him and Bucky earlier, but he’s thankful for it. He doesn’t even know if he’d be able to explain it to himself.

The rest of the afternoon is filled with drinks and friendly conversation. Sam and Clint join everybody later; Sam walking in with chips and dip and Clint carrying a giant cooler packed full of every alcoholic drink anyone could ever want. Steve doesn’t drink because he knows he’s incredibly lightweight when he’s so small, and neither does Bucky --Dr. Abbot had advised him not to. Steve loses track of how many beers Tony downs, not to mention the excessive number of shots, but it’s fun to watch.  Tony’s usual sassy and sarcastic comments are slurred and drawn out, but he still remains the center of attention, even when he’s drunk off his ass. Bruce has one beer in hand the entire afternoon and gravitates away from Tony and Clint’s chaotic stupor in favour of talking with Sam. Steve knows from past ‘team bonding’ nights that it takes a lot for Nat to feel any sort of effect when she drinks, but she always stops at the right time to prevent a nasty hangover.

As the sun dips closer to the horizon and the wind picks up, people gradually drift back inside the Tower. Bruce leaves first with Tony, and they shuffle towards the elevator slowly as Bruce struggles a little under supporting Tony’s weight. Clint and Natasha follow suit shortly after, giggling and poking each other like little kids do when they like each other.

“Are they together?” Bucky asks Steve under his breath and nods towards the two of them.

Steve laughs, “No. Then again, I’ve never seen Nat be like that with anyone before, unless it’s for a mission.”

“Hey, I’m heading to bed,” Sam calls from across the pool, his voice echoing off the water. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Have a good night!” Steve says back, and Bucky waves.

Steve wanders over to the hot tub and sits on the edge, then proceeds to gradually introduce each foot to the bubbling hot water. The warmth travels all the way up his legs, sparing them from the chilly wind. Bucky sits down beside Steve, blocking some of the wind with his body.

“If it gets any colder,” Bucky says, “we should head inside. I don’t want you getting sick.”

“I’m already sick, Buck,” sighs Steve.

Bucky looks down at the water as it swirls around from the jets in patterns of orange and red, reflecting the setting sun. “I guess so.”

The two of them sit there for a few minutes, listening to the slapping of water as it laps up the steps of the hot tub; watching as the wind blows leaves into the pool and smelling the first crisp scent of autumn settling into the late summer evening. Everything went really well today, Steve thinks. Better than he could have hoped for; everyone was welcoming and accepting, and Bucky took it one step at a time, easing into the friendly state with each person he talked to. Soon, they would become familiar to him, and Steve looked forward to the day that Bucky joined the team, if he chose to do so.

“How was your training?” Steve asks, even though he’d already spoken with Nat about it earlier.

“Good. She’s intimidating,” Bucky says. “I remember studying her. I remember fighting her as the Asset.”

“You do?” Steve asks. He hopes Bucky can’t remember fighting him on the helicarrier, even though he’s sure that the other man does, Steve doesn’t want Bucky to feel any guiltier than he already does for something he wasn’t in control of.

Bucky nods. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“Don’t—” Steve blurts out.

“But…”

“Don’t,” Steve meets Bucky’s sorrow filled eyes. “Just don’t.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. They stare at each other, each communicating without words; each saying something so secret that not even they know its true meaning. Bucky’s metal fingers graze over the back of Steve’s hand and Steve shudders. It unlocks his eyes from Bucky’s, and the moment breaks as he hastily stands up.

“I should go—” Steve starts.

“Steve, I didn’t mean—” Bucky insists, looking up at Steve with pained eyes.

“I’ll see you back in the apartment,” Steve states blankly.

 

***

 

Steve fights back the urge to cry as he stands in front of the mirror, scrubbing his toothbrush against his teeth harder than he needs to. He hurries through his routine even if it hurts him the whole way through. All that runs through his mind is Bucky, his eyes, his mouth, his fingers on Steve’s hand. The way Bucky looked at him… Bucky had never looked at him like that. Steve sighs and crawls under the blanket on the couch just as Bucky walks in. Steve pretends he’s fast asleep, breathing deeply and evenly as Bucky closes the door quietly behind him. He shuffles towards the couch, and Steve feels his heartbeat speed up. Bucky lays a hand on Steve’s shoulder, and for a moment Steve is sure that Bucky knows he’s awake.

“I didn’t mean to…” Bucky trails off. He squeezes Steve’s shoulder gently before ambling off to the bedroom.

  
“I know,” Steve whispers after Bucky is long gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve might not have the shoulders of Atlas to hold up his entire world, but God be damned if he isn't going to try.

It's late afternoon on a Thursday; the sun hides behind a series of looming clouds that look to be preparing for an evening shower of rain. The cooling wind of autumn is settling in Manhattan, helping the red and orange leaves shed from the trees before winter. This afternoon holds the chill of the early morning when dew drops freeze over the grass and paint it white. Steve and Natasha sit inside a small coffee shop about half a block from Avengers Tower, warming their hands with steaming mugs of black liquid.

“When do you leave?” Steve asks and takes a sip of his coffee. “Fury’s been quiet about the details.”

“We leave tomorrow night and I can understand why he’s not telling you much, this mission is primarily about you, Steve,” Nat says. “It’s a simple mission, infiltrate and shut down whatever they’re doing to mess with Erskine’s serum. With Clint’s help it’ll take a day or two at most.”

“If that formula fell into the wrong hands…” Steve comments. “And I thought you didn’t like help,” he teases, raising his eyebrows.

Nat shrugs and smiles, “Clint is different.” Steve hums in amusement and she kicks him gently under the table along with a quick, “Shut up, Rogers.”

Steve smiles and drops the subject, before casting his eyes around the cafe. Under his sunglasses, he spots a cute blonde girl two tables to his right wearing a curious expression on her face as she staresIt’s at him over her laptop screen. He tugs his baseball cap down and shifts awkwardly in his seat.

“Did someone recognize you?” Nat asks as she casually leans back in her seat to survey what she can of the cafe.

“Maybe,” Steve says in a hushed tone. “I thought I’d be able to get away with going out more like this, but I feel like people still watch me.”

Nat shrugs, “It’s part of the job, Steve. The important thing is acting like you can’t feel eyes on you.” Natasha glances at the girl from the corner of her eye and relaxes farther back in her seat before taking a slow sip of her coffee. “See?” she asks as the blonde goes back to typing away on her laptop. “She’s lost interest.”

“Good,” Steve says just as the sound of his cell beeps in unison with Natasha’s.

“It’s Fury,” she says. “He has more intel on the group, let’s go.” She downs the remaining contents in her mug and hurries out of the shop with Steve on her heels.

Steve stands on the sidewalk beside Natasha as she hails for a cab. As the taxi pulls over to the curb, he watches dozens of people across the street, briskly making their way from point A to B, bumping into each other as they try to make business calls and schedule meetings. During the ride back home, Steve feels like he’s standing in the center of a tornado. The people on the streets rushing around, the ongoing honking and screeching of tires in rush hour traffic. Each person with their own agenda trying their best to sprint to the next important thing in their lives, disregarding the wellbeing of others for their own selfish pleasures. Steve is sitting in a slightly musky smelling cab, watching everything spinning around him and all he wants is for the world to hit pause.

Everything has happened so fast and no matter how he tries to deal with it, nothing is slowing down. Nearly all of the whirlwind of events can be traced back to Bucky. When Sam and Steve found Bucky, Steve’s entire world flipped upside down. He had his best friend brought to a safe, secure place where he could make sure that Bucky was treated with the best care possible. But Steve had never expected his friend’s recovery to be so fast. It was only a couple of days over a week before Bucky was released from the psychiatric floor to live with Steve. A week later from that and Bucky was making conversation with him, even if the man chose his words carefully and kept his remarks short, he was still willing to interact with Steve. Everything is going so well and it only seems to be increasingly getting better. Yet through all of it, in the back of Steve’s mind, he’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop; for everything that had been created so delicately and perfectly to come crashing down around him like it always seems to. Steve feels shameful, waiting for his friend to break into a million pieces, but all he can think about is when it’s going to happen.

When the taxi driver pulls up to the entrance of Avengers Tower, Natasha thanks him and pays him as Steve climbs out and wanders inside. Nat asks Jarvis to take them to their apartment floor, then proceeds to eye Steve for the majority of the ride.

“Yeah?” Steve sighs. He looks up at her with his eyebrows raised, only to see that hers are furrowed over.

“Why can’t you let yourself be happy, Steve?” she asks.

Steve sighs again and dips his chin towards his chest. “I am happy,” he says, then meets her eyes again. “I have you and Sam to take care of me, Bruce and Tony are going to start some clinical trials to get me all fixed up, and Bucky is doing good. What more can a guy ask for?”

Nat cocks her head to the side and crosses her arms indignantly. “I’m offended, Steve,” she says. “I’m offended you would think with all my super spy training I wouldn’t be able to read right through that.”

“You caught me,” Steve says, his shoulders slumping over.

“I’m not telling you what to feel,” Nat says. “You have been through more than most people. You’ve lived more than just one life and now those two lives are blending together and it’s starting to wear on you. I know you can handle that on your own, but I want you to know that you don’t have to, Steve.”

“What are you getting at, Nat?” Steve asks, feeling incredibly exhausted all of a sudden.

“People say you need a war to survive, to keep fighting the good fight.”

Steve tenses and squares his shoulders. “They’re wrong.”

“I know,” Natasha says with a small smile. “All I’m saying is maybe you need to stop fighting for a while, stop waiting for something terrible to happen. Stop fighting the war inside yourself.”

The elevator doors open in front of them and Steve steps out, breathing a sigh of relief as he does so. “Nat, I appreciate the help but I can’t do this right now.”

Nat nods in understanding and backs off, finding a seat at the conference table next to Clint. Fury stands at the head of the table with a Stark tablet in hand as the rest of the Avengers settle into their seats.

“Thanks to the hardworking efforts of Maria Hill, we are no longer dealing with a ghost organization,” states Fury. He taps his fingers over the tablet until a hologram appears above it, casting a blue tint over the walls of the conference room. Five faces appear, all dawning the same threatening glare. “I’m sure you all recognize these men from our previous meeting. They have been identified as the main leaders within the group who we’ve come to discover calls itself the Black Souls. Each of these men control specific coordinations and business arrangements with other groups engaging in illicit activity. Though each man leads his own small army of arms dealers, their executive and what we now know to be the creator of the Black Souls, is this man.”

Steve’s expression hardens as he stares at the screen which now only displays one person. The man’s eyes are a dull grey, no emotion flickers behind them except a cold hatred. His hair is buzzed close to his scalp and his scruff is neatly shaved and clean. Steve has seen men like him on dozens of missions; they always remain out of the way, washing their hands of the real dirty work while their minds do all the behind the scenes work. They stay hidden, groomed neatly and fine, but not so much to attract unwanted attention. They believe that their main purpose in life is to threaten the safety and security of others, if only to provoke chaos. Steve faintly recalls his conversations with Alexander Pierce during Project Insight and shudders at the familiarity of Pierce’s face in the man on the hologram.

Fury speaks again, drawing Steve back to the present with his words. “This is Aleksei Savchuk. He first came under suspicion in the United States during the nineties for sparking illegal organizations across Europe. His right hand man Dmitri Petrov--” Fury swipes his fingers and another face appears beside Savchuk’s. “Dealt with the majority of the deals up until he was killed in 2001. The death of Savchuk’s partner and presumed friend ceased his activity until recently, as we’ve discussed before. Savchuk seems to be dealing primarily in parts of South Africa but he has continued his work with a handful of countries in Europe and Asia, including well known terrorist groups.”

“That’s one hell of a comeback,” Clint mutters under his breath.

“Losing a friend makes people do crazy things,” Sam comments.

“Ms. Hill has found a series of messages between Aleksei Savchuk and an unknown buyer about an upcoming deal,” says Fury. “In two weeks, Savchuk has planned to traffick arms into Johannesburg for the transaction. The Avengers goal is to find and isolate the buyer, infiltrate the deal, and stop Savchuk before the deal goes down. You have three days of preparation before we ship out. Barton and Romanoff will join us there when they have completed their own mission.” Fury shuts down the tablet, glances around the room once to read the comprehension on everyone’s faces, then stalks out of the room.

“Three days? I could vacation in Bali for two of those days with Pep and still make it to Johannesburg in time,” Tony announces to the room.

“It takes a day to fly there, Tony,” Bruce sighs. “Steve, can you meet me in the lab later? I want to run as many tests with you as I can before we go.”

Steve nods, “If one of them works, then you can bet I’m coming with you.”

“That’s the spirit,” Nat says, bumping her shoulder into Steve.

  

*** 

 

“You can take a seat there, Steve,” Bruce says, gesturing to chair up against the far wall of the lab that vaguely reminds Steve of a dentist’s chair. He has to climb into it and realizes once he lays his head back that the chair almost swallows him completely.

“What are we doing today, doctor?” Steve asks, a little nervous.

“On the balcony the other day, Tony and I said we made some serums of our own, yes?” Bruce asks. Steve nods when Bruce glances at him, adjusting the spindly frames of his glasses. “Good, this is how many we’ve concocted.” Bruce opens a drawer next to them and pulls out a rack of at least twenty test tubes. Each tube is filled with a clear fluid but they differ in that some are releasing thin wisps of steam while others are rolling with bubbles. A handful of the tubes even look to be frozen, the glass foggy from the heat of the room. Steve watches Bruce walk around the lab gathering supplies. A few pieces of gauze from that drawer, a sterilized needle from this cabinet, and finally, an IV stand.

“Until I have to leave, I’ll be injecting as many of these as I can get away with into your system and observing their effects on your body,” Bruce explains as he ties a band around Steve’s arm to pop his vein. Next, Bruce snaps on a pair of gloves and sterilizes the needle again.

“That doesn’t exactly pleasant,” Steve says, wincing a little when Bruce pulls the band tighter.

“Ah, there we go,” Bruce says and taps his fingers on Steve’s vein. “In all honesty, it won’t be very pleasant, but I’ll do my best to make it as easy as possible for you.” Bruce swabs the inside of Steve’s elbow with an alcohol wipe before fiddling with the IV bag.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Steve tries to say in as calm of a voice as he can manage as Bruce adjusts the angle of the needle. Bruce looks at Steve for confirmation and Steve whispers “Just do it.” Then he feels the pinch of the needle enter his arm.

“There,” Bruce smiles as he stabilizes the needle. “Not so bad, right?”

Steve laughs a little faintly, “I forget how much I hate those damn things.”

“Don’t we all,” Bruce agrees. “Now, let’s get started.”

The next several hours include Bruce choosing a serum-filled test tube and gradually inserting its contents into Steve’s blood stream. Most of them go smoothly, but have little to no effect on Steve’s body. One of the tubes that Steve had noticed earlier was admitting steam, allowed him to take several deep breaths with no sign of his lungs becoming scratchy and irritated from his asthma. Another tube with hint of purple in its translucent colour almost immediately ceased all of the aches and pains that Steve’s muscles and bones had felt.

Bruce scribbles away in a notebook after each test tube is emptied into the IV, observing Steve’s reactions and asking questions about how Steve feels after a few minutes of each injection. It’s a lengthy process, but Bruce has excellent bedside manner, which is especially helpful when a few of the serums make Steve feel ill.

Three hours later, the two have made it through the majority of the serums and Bruce’s tiny notebook is filled with pages of messy handwriting. Bruce announces that he’s finished with Steve for now and he quickly slides the needle out and cleans up the workspace.

“Bruce?” Steve asks, applying pressure to the gauze on the inside of his elbow. “How did Bucky seem to you, the other day I mean, by the pool?”

Bruce shrugs as he throws away his gloves and needle into a medical hazardous waste container. “He was nervous but very polite. I have to say I actually admire him.”

Steve sighs, “I know the feeling.”

The sound of the glass door to the lab whirring opens draws both of their attention to it. Tony steps into the lab and immediately spots them, waving enthusiastically with great, big smile plastered on his face.

“Hey guys! I’m glad you’re here,” he says, weaving through the lab tables towards them. “How’d the first few rounds of serum testing go?” His gaze falls first on Steve, before landing on Bruce with a hopeful look in his eyes.

“As good as to be expected, but we’re close,” Bruce says.

“Great! Steve, can I borrow you for a moment now?” Tony asks.

“Sure,” Steve replies. Bruce helps him out of the chair and although Steve feels a little wobbly still, he’s determined to walk in a straight line as he follows Tony to the other side of the lab.

Tony struts past the public section of his workspace-- where he only works on small pieces of his suits or other weapons for the Avengers-- and through another pair of sliding doors. Inside the large room, each of the Iron Man suits are enclosed in plexiglass containers that remind Steve of soldiers uniforms in a museum. The room also contains several large pieces of Tony’s equipment that he uses for his suits and other more important projects. Steve’s eyes fall on the object in the center of the room which is held in the air by two mechanical arms.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Tony says gleefully, pointing to the object. AS they approach it, Steve begins to recognize it. It’s a metal arm.

“That’s--” he starts.

“Indeed it is, Cap. Well, not exactly, obviously because Barnes still has his attached. But yes, this is the prototype for his new arm,” Tony announces, spreading his arm wide.

“Would you like me to play the drum roll soundbite, sir?” Jarvis asks and tinge of blue flies across the surface of the arm.

“Hey! I don’t need sass from you right now, Jarvis,” Tony states grumpily.

“Apologies, sir,” Jarvis replies.

“Anyways, c’mon, Cap. Check it out!” Tony ushers Steve closer to the arm, then raises his hand and gestures a few times until the mechanical arms set in gently onto the table below it. “Lookie here all right? See that?” Tony taps his fingers on the metal plates.

“Same material?” Steve guesses.

“Yup! But reinforced, obviously,” Tony drags out the last word’s syllables to create the full effect.

“And of course, this arm can’t be accessed wirelessly by Hydra, contains no weapons like unknown bombs that could kill us all at any minute, and it has no star,” Tony finishes happily. “Unless of course your Bucky wants it again. It’s all up to him. Cool, eh?”

Steve takes a puff of his inhaler, feeling out of breath even though he wasn’t doing all the chatting. “It’s incredible, Tony, thank you. Bucky’ll appreciate it too.”

“Aw, I’m touched,” Tony sighs and places a hand over his heart. 

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “You said this was just a prototype, though. Are you working on a real one?” Steve asks.

“Oh I finished that the day after Barnes arrived at the Tower,” Tony says. “I just thought I’d show you this first in case you hated it and I had to awkwardly make a new one.”

Steve laughs again just as his phone beeps. It’s a text message from Sam.

 **Sam** : Heard you’ve had a long ass day. Movie night sound good?

 **Me** : Movie night sounds great.

“Thank you again, Tony, really. It means a lot,” says Steve as he makes his way out of the workspace and towards the elevator.

“Sure thing, Cap. Don’t tell your buddy o’l pal though, I want to surprise him with it,” Tony says. Steve nods and leaves the lab and workspace, waving goodbye to Bruce before he steps into the elevator.

  

*** 

 

After watching two of the Jurassic Park movies-- where Sam asks Steve if he remembers any of the dinosaurs because he’s so old-- the two are happily sleepy and Steve decides to turn in for the night at his own apartment. He checks on Bucky before he resides to the couch, only to find his friend in a deep slumber. Steve drifts off quickly into sleep and not before long, he’s dreaming.

_“This is just a sad version of us,” Bucky says, a drunken smile on his lips. He leans forward in his bar stool towards Steve._

_“How many drinks have you had, Barnes?” Steve laughs and hiccups, unsure if he can answer that question himself._

_“Enough to know what the fuck I’m talking about, Rogers,” Bucky’s words are slurred but Steve still manages to catch them over the noise of the soldiers in the bar. “As I was saying… this is just a sad version of us, me and you.”_

_“Buck, you’re not making any sense,” Steve complains as he absently pats Bucky’s shoulder._

_“Listen,” Bucky says. “M’ being serious, pal. We’re gonna go through a lot of shit together. I’m gonna fall and you’re gonna think I’m dead and it’s gonna mess you up pretty bad.”_

_“Don’t say things like that,” Steve says, frowning._

_“It’s true,” Bucky says. “That’s all gonna happen. Then I’m gonna come back but it ain’t really gonna be me at first ‘cause some bad things happened to me. But then we’re gonna be on this great, big flying thing and you’re gonna say some things that make me put my head back together. I’m gonna find you and you’re gonna make me better.”_

_“What the hell are you talking about, Buck?” Steve laughs. Something churns in his stomach and he’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or Bucky’s oddly familiar words._

_“This is just a sad version of us,” Bucky says again. “But there are other ones… and they’re better. They’re gonna happen. Not soon, but they are.”_

_“Bucky?” Steve murmurs._

_“Yeah, Steve?” Bucky asks._

_“I’m with you, you know,” says Steve, feeling his eyes wet with tears as Bucky clinks his glass against his._

_“You too, pal. Til’ the end of the goddamn line,” Bucky finishes._

_Steve’s vision gets a little blurry and he blinks a few times to try and clear the fog from his mind._

He wakes to Bucky’s screams ripping through the quiet of the night. The screams are coming from the bedroom and Steve leaps off the couch and tries his best to run towards the gut wrenching sound of his friend’s cries. Bucky is sitting up in bed, back ramrod straight and eyes wide and staring dead forward. He’s stopped his shrieking for now, but his hands are shaking so bad that it looks like they have a mind of their own. Steve reaches the bedside in seconds, running on adrenaline alone and without thinking, grabs the larger man by his shoulders and grips him tightly.

“Bucky? Are you okay?” Steve gasps, nearly shouting. “Buck, what’s wrong?”

“Sh-she was just six years old…” Bucky whispers, horror flashing in the whites of his eyes. “Just s-six years old…”

“Jarvis--” Steve says, his voice rigid.

“I alerted Dr. Abbot as soon as Mr. Barnes woke. Would you like me to contact Ms. Romanoff?” Jarvis asks in a tone far too calm for Steve’s pounding heart rate.

“Yes-yes get Nat,” Steve nods wildly before looking back at Bucky in a flurry of moments. Steve takes Bucky’s flesh and metal hands his own smaller ones and rubs his slim fingers over Bucky’s knuckles. “It’s going to be all right, Buck. You’re going to be ok. It was just a nightmare.”

“N-not a nightmare, Steve,” Bucky says and locks his eyes with Steve’s. “Not a nightmare.”

Dr. Abbot knocks on the door to apartment exactly one minute later and Steve whispers a reassuring ‘I’ll be right back’ to Bucky before answering it. It’s only when he opens the door and tries to speak again that he realizes he can’t breathe. He shuffles back towards the couch and points towards the bedroom. Dr. Abbot darts down the hallway and the last thing Steve hears is him calmly greeting Bucky.

“Steve,” says a high, stern voice. “Steve wake up.”

Natasha is leaning over him and both her hands are on either side of his face, her thumbs wiping tears from his eyes. He blinks a few times to register what is going on and then all he can feel is his lungs burning in his chest.

“Here,” Nat says and hands him his inhaler.

He takes a few breaths before croaking out, “What happened?”

“You fainted,” she replies calmly. “Probably from the lack of oxygen and exhaustion from a day in the lab.” Steve slowly starts regaining his breath as he calms down. Nat sits beside him on the couch and rubs slow, soothing circles over his bony shoulder blades.

“Now I’m going to ask you,” she says as the colour returns to Steve’s cheeks. “What the hell happened tonight?”

"Bucky- he woke up screaming, I didn't know what to do," Steve explains, deflating into the couch.

"You did everything you could," Nat reassures. She wraps her arm around his shoulders and pulls him into a side hug. "He's not ok right now, but he will be."

"Yeah," Steve sniffs, feeling a ball of emotion lodge itself in his throat.

A few minutes of silence pass between them where the only noise is Dr. Abbot’s hushed words in the next room. Steve can’t hear Bucky speak, if he is at all. Eventually, Steve feels his thrumming heartbeat slow to a steady pulse inside his ribcage and his breaths aren’t as shaky and ragged as they were before.

"Did you ever have... nightmares?" Steve asks tentatively, breaking the quietness and swivelling so he can read Natasha's face.

"No," she replies. "Not before SHIELD, not before Clint."

"And now?" Steve questions.

"Now..." she laughs sadly. "All the time."

"Me too," Steve admits.

“They started after my psychological evaluation before I was allowed to join Shield,” Nat says slowly. “It was horrible but Clint made it easier. He was there for me like no one else really could be, because no one else really understood.”

Steve smiles but keeps his thoughts quiet

"The nightmares are there for a reason," Nat says, thinking out loud. She rests her cheek on Steve's head and he recalls a time not so long ago when she'd be able to use his shoulder instead. "Nightmares are reminders of the hard times when we made the wrong choices, or if we made a difficult decision. It's what makes us human."

"I feel like I'm talking to Sam," Steve chuckles. "He always says things like that."

"Wilson is a smart man," Nat says a few seconds before Dr. Abbot walks out of the hallway that leads to the bedroom.

"Steve, a word," Dr. Abbot says. Steve stands, with a little difficulty and the support of Nat, and meets Dr. Abbot by the door.

“I’ve been able to calm James down enough to allow him some much needed sleep. I’ve had a feeling that something like this would occur, but I did not anticipate for it to be so traumatic for James. He’s all right now and soon he’ll overcome this hurdle, with plenty of rest and by taking his medications that I’ve prescribed,” Dr. Abbot says.

Steve sighs in relief, "Thank God.”

"Although I know you are eager to help your friend, James has asked me to not speak of what caused the onslaught of panic at this time. I believe respecting his wishes until he is willing to open up would be for the best," Dr. Abbot says.

"I understand," Steve says, even though he can’t. He’s trying his best to not let the desperate need to see Bucky show on his face, but it takes every bone in his body to not sprint down that hallway again and wrap Bucky in his arms. Though he knows from personal experience  that sometimes all someone needs after a terrible panic attack like that is some space. "Thank you, Doctor."

"William, please," Dr. Abbot reminds Steve with a kind smile. "Alert me if anything else is to happen. Goodnight, Steve."

"Goodnight, William," Steve replies and closes the door behind the psychiatrist.

"I'm staying tonight," Nat states from where she sits on the couch, knees now pulled up to her chest.

"Good, ‘cause I don’t know if I can lay on this couch by myself," Steve says.

 

***

 

Bucky hasn't gotten out of bed in days and it's really starting to worry Steve. He calls Dr. Abbot on the third day and begs him to come talk to Bucky, since the man barely even acknowledges Steve's presence. Even after a session with his psychiatrist, Bucky doesn’t improve and Steve resorts to simply waiting it out. He makes breakfast, lunch, and dinner for Bucky, leaving a tray of food on the bedside table each time along the medication. But every time Steve comes to collect the tray, the food is barely touched. Maybe one day an orange is gone, the next only a quarter of the smoothie. At least Bucky stays on top of his medication, which eases Steve’s mind only a little.

On the fourth day, Steve has had enough. If Bucky doesn't want to get out of bed, that's his problem. Not eating on the other hand, that makes it Steve’s problem too.

Steve stalks into the bedroom, hands on bony hips and narrow shoulders squared. "You have to eat," Steve says sternly. No response. "You need to take care of yourself." Nothing.

Bucky lays in the bed, sheets covering only half of his bare torso. He faces away from Steve, towards the large window on the far wall. The curtains are pulled back just enough to let some sunlight in, a golden strip that crosses the floor and slices the bed in half. Bucky’s metal arm is outstretched, his fingers dancing in the single ray of sunshine, causing the light to glint and fracture around the room.

"Buck," Steve sighs, exasperated. "Please. Can you at least look at me?" Finally, a response. Bucky lets his fingers fall to mattress and turns his head just enough to catch Steve's eyes with his own. "You have to eat," Steve says again, his heart heavy with the sadness that bakes itself into Bucky's eyes.

"Not hungry," Bucky states plainly. "Asset can survive without food for two weeks."

"Stop," Steve says through gritted teeth. "Don't talk to me like I'm a Hydra agent."

Bucky shrugs and says again, robotically, "Not hungry." He then turns his attention back to the window, eyes almost glazing over in thought.

Steve swallows hard and walks out of the room and into the kitchen. He leans against the granite countertop and holds back exhausted tears. “Jarvis, can you pull up a recipe for spaghetti?” Steve has never been an amazing cook, but he’s never made spaghetti before and if one positive thing comes out of this slump Bucky’s in, it’ll be that Steve becomes a self-taught wizard in the kitchen.

“I’ve selected three recipes with higher than four stars each, Mr. Rogers. You can view them on your Stark Tablet,” replies Jarvis. “Can I assist you in any other way, sir?”

Steve grabs for the tablet and thinks for a second as he looks over each of the recipes. “Any articles on how to help someone with depression?”

“Several thousand, sir,” Jarvis says smoothly.

“Give me five to read through while I cook this,” Steve says.

“As you wish, Mr. Rogers.”

 

***

 

 

Steve is exhausted. His muscles feel worn out like he’s been in the gym all day, his bones hold a cold ache inside them that makes him flinch with almost every step, his asthma is acting up, even with the new ventilator Tony installed in his apartment. Even his mind is hurting. Sometimes it feels like he can actually feel parts of his brain throbbing from the amount of stress it holds. The worst part of it all is that Steve has no idea what to do to help himself.

He doesn’t want to bother anyone else with his problems if he doesn’t have to. After all, he’s the one who got shot, the one who can’t figure out how to help his friend, the one who feels incredibly useless so often now that he’s almost become used to the feeling. Steve knows he needs help with Bucky, but Bucky has been his closest friend since childhood, he should know exactly what to do. Steve has always been the kind of guy to step up in order to fix a problem; he’s lead the Avengers for a few years now, even if he insists that it’s a team effort. During the war in the prime of the Howling Commandos, Steve led them through impossible situations and they all came out the other side, save for Bucky. With Bucky, it always feel like Steve can never do enough. Just like how he couldn’t reach far enough on the train to stop Bucky from falling, he can’t seem to pull Bucky out this darkness that he was forced into. He’s helpless, he’s useless.

It’s two in the morning when Steve gives in. He’s sitting on the hardwood floor beside the bed as Bucky snores softly, even though his spine and tailbone protest from the hard surface. Steve takes out his Stark Phone from his pajama's pocket and texts the only person he’s knows that might be able to council Bucky in a way that’s different enough from Dr. Abbot that it just might work.

A few minutes later, three quiet knocks echo down the hall and into the bedroom and Steve stands from his statue-like seating arrangement and shuffles down the hallway to answer. Sam stands in the doorway, wearing plaid, cotton pajama pants and a black tank top, a little bleary-eyed from waking up in the middle of the night, but wearing a small smile nonetheless.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says upon seeing Sam yawn. “I wouldn’t have woken you if I didn’t need you.”

“No worries, man, what’s up?” Sam asks, keeping his tone low.

“It’s Bucky,” Steve says. “He had a… panic attack or something a few days ago and he won’t get out of bed. He’s not eating either.”

“Damn,” Sam sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks down at Steve with sadness in his eyes. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

Steve shrugs, “He tried to kill you just over three weeks ago, Sam, so I’ll understand if you won’t. But for me, please. I think he might actually listen to you.”

“What makes you say that?” Sam asks.

“You’ve talked with veterans before so I thought it would be a good idea. Nat is great when it comes to training him but emotional heart-to-hearts aren’t exactly her cup of tea,” Steve says. “I thought you’d be able to talk him through whatever he’s going through. You’ve talked me through some pretty bad days, I know that for sure.”

“Yeah…” Sam mutters. “I will if you need me to, Steve, but this guy’s been through a hell of a lot more than the veterans I used to counsel.”

“I understand…” Steve sighs, shrinking into himself and dipping his head to his chest.

“Nah man,” Sam says earnestly as he places a strong hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You don’t get to shut me out. I’m there for you and I’ll talk to your friend.”

Steve smiles a lopsided smile, one that he wears when he’s a little loopy from lack of sleep. “Are you free tomorrow?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” Sam agrees. “Can I go to bed now?”

The two laugh under their breath and Steve nods, thanking Sam as he closes the door behind him Even though Steve’s body feels like it will collapse under him at any minute, his mind is still running through a thousand thoughts a second. He wanders back into the bedroom, but this time he sits beside Bucky on the bed, crossing his legs in front of him. Bucky’s hair is really starting to get long. A few strands have fallen over his mouth and when he breathes, they float up for a second before falling back down over the curve of Bucky’s lips. Steve sweeps his skinny fingers over Bucky’s face softly, brushing the hair away from his face.

Once, when they were both elementary age, Bucky slept over at Steve’s. They played all day long and when it came time for bed, Bucky promptly fell fast asleep, leaving Steve in his own company. Steve had just become interested in drawing-- his mother buying him a small sketchpad for Christmas that year-- so he gathered his pencils and did his best to capture the beautiful peace on Bucky’s face as the boy slept. Steve chuckles quietly at the memory; it was a horrible drawing, it didn’t look so much like a person sleeping as it did some wild scribbles. But it was one of the first sketches Steve ever remembers making and it meant an awful lot to his tiny 8-year-old self. Before finally falling asleep that night, Steve stared at his drawing in awe, admiring his own work as though it were the most beautiful thing in the world. Steve remembers planting a big kiss on it when he’d finished and then in a wild and somewhat daring moment, he gently kissed Bucky’s forehead as the boy slept. He then crawled under the covers beside his friend and murmured a soft ‘Night, Bucky, love you’, as his mother always said to him when she kissed his forehead at bedtime.

  
Steve blushes at the memory, the warm, fuzzy feeling of good times filling his heart. Instead of half-walking half-crawling back to the couch, Steve lies down beside Bucky like he did all those years ago and drifts off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe accidentally falling in love with your best friend isn't the worst thing a person can do.

Sam arrives at the apartment around noon wearing a red baseball cap and the most optimistic smile Steve has ever seen. It’s a little surprising, considering how unsure Sam usually feels about Bucky. Today, Sam holds a certain confidence about him, like he’s prepared himself more this time.  Steve leads him into the bedroom where Bucky is awake but still tucked in under the sheets. At least he’s fully clothed now, Steve offered him a shirt when he woke up this morning since Sam was coming over. Bucky props himself up with some pillows when Sam walks into the room and stands in the corner of the room at a comfortable distance. 

“Hey, James,” Sam greets with a small smile. 

“Wilson, Samuel Thomas; codename: Falcon,” Bucky says. Steve stiffens at the words, reminded of the time not so long ago when he’d gone to visit Bucky on the psychiatric floor with Sam. 

Sam nods, “Glad you remember me, or else this would be really awkward.” 

“Of course I remember you,” Bucky blurts out, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes deepen as he says, “I tried to kill you.” 

For a moment, Steve worries about what is going to happen next. He subconsciously takes a step forward to Bucky, as though he’ll try to stop him if he decides to attacks Sam. Not that Steve would be able to do much of anything with how he is.

“You did,” Sam sighs. “But that’s ok because I know that it wasn’t James trying to kill me, it was the Winter Soldier.”

The look that settles over Bucky’s face is one of fascination and curiousness, like he isn’t sure if he trusts Sam but he wants to more about Sam’s opinion of him.

“James, is it okay if I sit here,” Sam says, gesturing to the edge of the bed. Bucky nods slowly. Sam takes his time as he walks over and sits on the mattress only a few feet now from the other man. 

“James--” Sam starts.

“My name is Bucky.” 

“Bucky, all right,” Sam smiles. “Steve here tells me you haven’t been doing that great lately.” Bucky glances at Steve who has moved to the corner of the room where Sam was previously standing, but is forced to sit in the chair there from the ache in his knees. 

“You been tattling on me, Stevie?” Bucky grins and shakes his head. 

Steve shrugs, “Sorry, pal. I’m just worried about you.” Steve gives an unapologetic smile in return.

Sam flicks his eyes between the two of them, analyzing the difference in interaction with him versus Steve before saying, “Bucky, how do you feel about talking to me about what you told Dr. Abbot?” 

Bucky’s gaze falls on Sam with a stern expression on his face as he sits straighter on the bed. “Why?” 

“I know you don’t want to and if you really feel strongly about it, you don’t have to tell me anything. But, I think it would help if you explained how you felt about it,” Sam explains. 

Bucky shakes his head, “You’re not a doctor.” 

“No, I’m not,” Sam says. “I’m a vet though, just like you. My best friend Riley died in combat out there.” Steve watches as Sam shrinks in on himself a little, as he’s always done when Riley is brought up. “I talked to people just like you, me, and Steve; people with horrible stories that they weren’t sure they could come back from. I like to think I did my part in helping them through some of it.” 

Bucky nods and skims his fingers through a few strands of hair, pushing them out of his face and behind his ear. “Like Dr. Abbot.” 

“Yeah, but without all the medical stuff,” Sam laughs quietly.

Bucky smiles a small smile and says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Sam asks, raising his eyebrows. 

“Sure, okay,” Bucky replies. 

Several minutes of silence pass after that. Steve shifts his weight from one foot to the other and crosses his arms as he waits for Bucky to begin. Sam sits patiently on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap. Neither of them are going to push Bucky into saying something that he doesn’t want to. When Bucky finally speaks, Steve breathes a quiet sigh of relief. 

“It was 1973 and I guess someone decided they needed the Asset to get a few jobs done,” Bucky starts slowly. “Whenever I came out of cryo, they’d reprogram me with codewords and shocks and all that. Then they’d tell me my mission and I’d be sent on my way.” The bland tone Bucky uses is almost a little disturbing and Steve wonders if Bucky has ever felt himself connect back to the Winter Soldier when he talks about his time with Hydra. “This wasn’t a big mission like an assassination or anything. A few dozen people had gotten Hydra’s attention in a not-so-good way and they wanted me to take care of them. There was one guy… in Seoul. He was engineer that designed weapons for Hydra, but only because he needed the money for his- for his family,” Bucky says shakily. “After a few years, the guy was asked to create some kind of bomb and he refused. When he backed out, Hydra put him on their hit list. Poor guy had no idea… no clue what Hydra would do to him- what I’d do to him.” Bucky shudders and Sam whispers something about taking his time. 

“I made my way to Seoul a few days after reprogramming. It was almost one in the morning when I found the house. It was small, more of a cottage than a house really. I snuck in through the backdoor since the lock was broken, that’s something I definitely remember. As soon as I was inside, this little girl walks right up to me and asks me who I am and what I’m doing there. I had two main orders; the father was supposed to be conscious when he was killed and if anyone got in my way, they were to be disposed of. At the time, the girl wasn’t posing any threat and she wasn’t in my way so I ignored her, went straight to her parents room instead. She followed me, not scared at all. She stood in the doorway when I went in the room. I should her father awake, objective one satisfied. Then I- I--” Bucky shudders again and squeezes his eyes shut like he’s trying to block the memory from his own mind. “I strangled him with the arm. He moved around a lot, woke up his wife. She started grabbing at me so I- Jesus fuck- I let go of her dead husband and broke her neck. No hesitation, just  _ snap _ . Objective two satisfied... so I left. That little girl screamed and screamed and cried. I could hear her halfway up the block. She was six, that was in the mission statement.  _ Six _ . Fucking hell.” Bucky starts breathing raggedly, then gasping as he starts to cry. He pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes and cries silently, shaking and muttering curses under his breath. 

Sam remains still, almost in shock. Steve is beside Bucky as fast as he can make it across the floor, sitting beside him and wrapping his too-short arms as far around Bucky’s shoulders as he can manage. 

“Steve what did I do?” Bucky gasps out, staring at Steve with wide, horrified eyes. He looks down at his hands and his eyes grow even wider. “What did I do?

Steve has no idea what to say. How do you respond to something like that? How can you comfort someone who just told you about two people they killed? 

“It’s not your fault,” Sam says, his voice low and certain. “That was not your fault. That was Hydra. They made you do that, Christ, Hydra made you.”

“They made a fucking monster,” Bucky says tiredly, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Steve, go,” he says then. “Please.” 

Steve shoots Sam a ‘but I need to be here’ look and Sam shakes his head. 

“I got him,” Sam assures. 

“So do I,” Steve replies. 

“Stevie, please,” Bucky begs. “I shouldn’t have told you, you didn’t need to know. You probably think… I’m some sort of horrible--” 

“Shh…” Steve whispers, taking Bucky’s flesh hand in his own. “It’s not my place to think anything, Buck. You’re my friend, that’s all that matters.” 

Sam eyes Steve strangely but Steve is too wrapped up in taking care of his giant hurting puppy dog that the doesn’t notice. Sam leaves them shortly after, opting to wait in the living room for Steve. Bucky falls asleep thirty minutes later from emotional exhaustion and Steve is sure to pull the covers up to the other man’s chin before leaving the room. Sam is sitting on the couch with the TV on but turned down so low that Steve is positive he isn’t really watching it. Sam notices Steve amble into the living room and watches him carefully as he sits down in a chair beside the couch. 

“How could they do that to him?” Steve asks angrily. 

“I don’t think I can answer that question,” Sam replies, his tone heavy. 

“Sam what do I do?” 

“You be there for him,” says Sam without missing a beat. “You be there for him no matter what. That’s what you signed up for by taking him in like this.” 

“He’s not a stray dog,” Steve sighs. 

“I didn’t say that. I’m saying that you need to be able to handle this for his sake because if you can’t, well, maybe he’s better off where he was before,” Sam says. “You don’t have to have everything together, Steve, but for him you have to at least act like you do.” 

Steve nods and shifts his gaze to a furniture magazine on the table. “I’m always there for him, Sam.” 

“I know,” Sam says. He pauses, which prompts Steve to look at him again. “I saw the way he looked at you in there, the way he holds onto you.” 

“He’s afraid he’ll lose me again,” Steve says. 

“Are you sure that isn’t you afraid of losing him?” asks Sam. 

Steve feels like he’s being accused, which is the only explanation for his cheeks heating up. “Of course I’m afraid, I’m afraid of everything when it comes to Bucky.” 

Sam waits like he’s expecting Steve to say something else, to admit to something. “Steve, buddy, you know I love you. You’re one of the most genuine, kind-hearted people I’ve ever met, but you are so oblivious when it comes to yourself.” 

Steve draws his eyebrows together in confusion

“Are you afraid of your feelings for him?” Sam asks. 

“What?” Steve asks, his heart beating wildly in his chest. “What?” he asks again.

“Hey, I’m not accusing you,” Sam asks. “We’ve all been there in college, hell even I did some experimenting. For some of us, it just sticks.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re implying--” Steve stutters out.

“Forget I asked,” Sam says, shaking his head. He wipes a smirk off his face and makes his way to the door. “I should go,” he says. “You call me if something else happens, if you need me, right?” 

“O-of course, Sam,” Steve says quickly, almost unable to focus his eyes on the other man with the flurry of emotions that are wracking around in his head. 

Sam turns the doorknob and opens the door. “Wait,” Steve blurts out. He stumbles off the couch towards Sam in a mess of skinny limbs. “Uh…” Steve says awkwardly. “I don’t- you said sometimes it just sticks?” 

Sam shrugs, “Yeah, sure.” 

“Ok,” Steve replies thoughtfully. 

Sam grins, “Ok man.” He ruffles Steve’s hair before turning down the hall in the direction of his own apartment. 

Steve journeys to the kitchen and grabs two mugs from the cupboard. He pours water into a kettle and sets it on the stovetop before taking a teabag from the pantry. As he waits for the whistle of the kettle, he smiles. Sam’s words struck a cord so deeply buried in Steve’s heart that sometimes he wasn’t sure it was there at all. Now it’s like it’s been brought out in the open for everyone to Steve. When the tea is ready, he can barely look Bucky in the eye when he sets in on the bedside table. Maybe for Steve, something just stuck; something with his oldest friend in the entire world. The concept nearly shakes Steve to his core. 

 

***

 

The next morning, Bucky joins Steve in the Avengers common room for breakfast. As the two sit with their coffee and pancakes, the elevator dings and Nat and Sam step out of it. Nat is telling Sam about all of the different fight style she learned before joining SHIELD and Sam is listening intently, hanging onto every word.  Nat sits across the table from Steve and Bucky and after finishing a story about an ancient form of jiu-jitsu as Sam pours himself a coffee, she finally acknowledges their presence. 

“Hello, Steve,” she greets, flashing a brilliant smile of white teeth. “James,” she says with a nod in his direction. He returns the nod and goes back to picking at his pancakes. 

“How are you guys?” Sam asks before Nat gets the chance. 

“Good,” Steve says. “Yourself?

“Me? I’m frustrated as hell,” Sam sighs. “I hate running without you, Steve. You better tell Bruce to get you started on that serum so you can get back to your usual Dorito-shaped self.” Nat snorts and starts laughing and even Bucky can’t help but join her. 

“Bruce has me all set up the day before you leave for South Africa,” Steve says, grinning. “When I’m back to normal, that’s the first thing we’ll do.” 

“Promise?” Sam jokes. 

“Promise,” Steve replies sincerely.

“Maybe Bucky can join you,” Nat suggests. 

Bucky glances up at her with questioning eyes and she shrugs like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Steve feels Sam’s eyes on him as the man makes his way around the kitchen island and sits down beside Nat. 

“That sounds like a great plan to me,” Sam says, winking at Steve who immediately blushes ten shades of red. 

“On that note,” Nat says. “I want to get Barnes back into training. It’s been too long and I want to get started on hand-to-hand combat.” 

“Can we train later today?” Bucky asks, speaking up for the first time that morning. 

Nat grins mischievously, “I’ll meet you in the gym in ten, Barnes.” 

“Done,” Bucky agrees and rises from his seat. 

Steve stops him and grabs his hand, ignoring the burn he feels from Sam’s stare. “Are you sure you’re ready for that, Buck?” 

“Don’t worry about me, I’m better now. All I need is a distraction,” Bucky says, then upon seeing the severity of concern on the smaller man’s face adds, “You can watch if it makes you feel better.” 

Nat is already in the elevator and Bucky releases Steve’s grip on his hand and jogs towards her. Steve watches as the doors close in front of them, before averting his attention back to Sam.

“Do you think it’s a good idea that he’s fighting so soon?” Steve asks. “You saw the way he looked last night when he talked about that family. His eyes glazed over, like it wasn’t really him talking.” 

Sam nods in thought. “I agree with you, but for James’ sake, I think he knows what’s best for him. At some point you have to let the leash out a little.”

Steve huffs out a sigh. “I know.” He picks up his and Bucky’s mugs of coffee and heads towards the sink in the kitchen. “I feel like I’m always worrying about him,” Steve mumbles, dumping the remaining sliver of black liquid down the drain.

“You worry about him because you care about him,” Sam comments. “Steve, about last night--”

“Shit, I shouldn’t have put the grains down the sink, Tony’s going to kill me,” Steve interrupts. “We should get going if we’re going to watch the training session,” he says as he tries to wash away the coffee. 

Sam rolls his eyes at Steve’s pathetic attempt to change the subject but let's it slide. “Let’s go then,” he says.

 

***

 

Sam and Steve arrive right in the middle of a fight sequence. At the soft ‘ding’ of the elevator doors opening, Bucky glances away from Nat and she able to slip a leg underneath, causing him to fall flat on his back on the gymnastic mats. 

“Is it always Steve who distracts you, Barnes?” Nat asks teasingly as she helps pull him up by his flesh arm. Sam nudges Steve’s side and Steve pretends not to notice the warm, pink colour blooming on his cheeks. “C’mon hit me, Barnes.” 

Bucky feints right and lunges left, reaching his metal arm forward to grab Natasha’s shoulder and twist her to the ground. She’s too quick for him though, dodging out of the way of his grasp and sending him ricocheting forwards. In a blur, Bucky drops to the balls of his feet and grabs her leg, lifting her upwards before swinging her down to the mats. 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Nat exclaims before propelling herself forwards as she kicks up, then landing on her feet with her arms held out in front of her to block. Bucky moves around her and she mimics each step. He punches forward and she dodges so he throws both arms forwards, one right after the other. His right one nearly catches her cheekbone and she steps back, letting her guard down. 

“Good?” Bucky asks. 

Nat smiles, “Yes, good.” 

Bucky glances at Sam and Steve, who’ve taken up seats on the vault on the other side of the gym. Steve nods and grins and Sam laughs under his breath. “You don’t ever quit do you?” Steve asks. 

“Nope,” Sam laughs. “Not when you look at him so much longing.” 

“Shut up,” Steve blushes and lands a soft punch against Sam’s ribs. 

“What did you just say?” Bucky’s voice echoes across the room. His stance is cold and rigid, but he isn’t preparing to attack Natasha as she’s a few feet away drinking from her water bottle. 

Steve shoots Sam a ‘thanks a lot, pal’ look and Sam shouts back across the gym, “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” 

Bucky shakes his head like he’s physically trying to clear his mind before beckoning Nat over, “C’mon let’s go.” 

“Hey party people!” calls an enthusiac voice as it enters the gym. Tony is dressed in a suit and shiny leather shoes and Steve almost laughs out loud at how out of place he looks here. “Jarvis told me there was a little training sesh going on, so I thought I’d stop by for some encouragement.” He joins Sam and Steve by the vault, standing with his hands his pockets. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, Tony, but do you think Bucky really needs an audience for this?” Steve says as more of a statement than a question. 

“Hey, we all know that I’m the guy who’ll get the oil if Tin Man gets all rusted up,” Tony barks out a laugh and even with the annoyed expression on Steve’s face, Sam can’t help but join in the laughter. 

“No,” Bucky mutters. “Stop!” He grips the sides of his head and sits down on the mat. 

“Barnes, what the hell?” Nat says sternly. Out of the three boys with the vault, Steve is the only one besides Nat who picks up on something being seriously wrong. “You can’t handle any more fighting? C’mon I’m not some little seventeen-year-old girl who can’t take a hit.” 

“Shut up!” Bucky yells out, lurching to his feet and grabbing Nat by her throat with his metal arm. He pushes her up against the wall, her feet dangling beneath her as she struggles. As Sam charges forward to help and Tony turns a pen inside his pocket into a handgun, everything clicks in Steve’s mind. The trigger words Dr. Abbot gave him. 

Steve has no choice but to use his inhaler before running as fast as he can manage towards Bucky.

“Steve--” Sam shouts at the same time Tony yells, “Cap!” 

“Buck, stop!” Steve says sternly. Bucky twists his head around to stare coldly at Steve’s small frame before dropping Natasha to the floor. Her hands fly to her throat and she crumples on the ground, gasping for air. “Bucky…” Steve says, raising his hands in surrender as he backs away from the rest of the group. Sam, Nat, and Tony watch perplexed as Bucky follows Steve away from them. 

“What the hell?” Clint says as he bursts out of the elevator doors, followed by Bruce, a bag of arrows in one hand and his bow in the other. 

“Clint,” Nat croaks out. He’s by her side in a flash, holding her hand as he watches Steve. Bruce stands by the elevator doors, his breaths slow and long, calming himself. “Bucky, this isn’t you. This is Hydra, this is the Asset,” Steve pleads. Bucky twitches and advances further on Steve. “I’m Steve remember, your friend--”

“No!” Bucky bellows out, smashing his metal hand through the wall. The sound of drywall breaking causes them all to jump.

“Yes,” Steve says. “You fought me on the helicarrier, then you saved me from drowning, remember? Why did you do that? Because you knew who I was. Please come back to me, Buck. I’m with you til’--” 

“The end of the line,” Bucky murmurs, his gaze flicking down to the mats. He twitches again, more violently this time before collapsing on the floor. Steve kneels down beside him and shakes his shoulder gently. Bucky opens his eyes and whispers, “Steve.” 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Steve says, his voice wobbly. He glances up at the rest of the Avengers who all wear faces of shock and disbelief. Tony has a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, willing the man to stay calm, Clint is almost holding Natasha as she regains her breath, and Sam is only a few feet from Steve and Bucky, a sad look on his face. “It’s ok, guys,” Steve confirms. Steve helps Bucky sit up and Bucky leans against the wall, his teeth working as he stares at everyone. 

“Trigger… words,” Bucky says. He glances up at the hole in the wall. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I never meant--” 

“It’s not your fault,” Sam says. “We should’ve known to be more careful.” 

“Don’t worry about the wall either,” Tony says with a shrug. “It’s an easy repair.” 

“How about a nice warm bath?” Steve suggests quietly as he looks at Bucky.

“Sounds great, pal,” Bucky whispers.

Clint helps Nat out of the gym to take her to the medical floor even though she insists she’s fine. Bruce has calmed down significantly but says that he needs some fresh air so he leaves with Tony to the pool balcony. Sam hovers, glancing between the two men on the floor and the elevator doors. 

“Do you need help?” Sam asks Steve. 

“I’m all right now, Sam, you can go,” Bucky says, closing his eyes for a brief second. Steve and Sam share a bewildered look. This is the first that Bucky’s used Sam’s name instead of addressing him the way Hydra had programmed him to. 

“In that case, I’ll catch ya later, Steve,” Sam says. Steve waits a few minutes after Sam has left to lean closer towards Bucky and brush his hand against the man’s cheek. 

“You’re cold,” Steve remarks. “Let’s get you to that bath, pal.” 

Bucky manages to stand on his own and even though Steve has Bucky’s flesh arm across his shoulders, he guesses that he isn’t doing much supporting as they shuffle to the elevator. 

 

***

 

Steve turns the hot water knob on all the way and lets the water fill the tub some before turning the cold water knob too. He lets Bucky choose a bubble bath scent from underneath the sink and pours almost a quarter of the bottle in the water. The bubbles are large and frothy, covering the entire surface of the water when Steve turns the knobs off. He leaves the bathroom to give Bucky some privacy and some peace and decides to check up on Nat in medical to make sure she’s feeling better. 

After a little bit of begging, one of the nurses allows Steve into Nat’s room. She’s sitting on a examination bed, the sanitary paper crinkling when she shifts. She looks as good as someone can after being choked by a metal hand; bright purple bruises in the shape of fingertips have formed on the side of her throat already. Clint is sitting in a chair off to the side reading a magazine as the nurse examines Nat’s throat. 

“How is she?” Steve asks the nurse. 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Nat complains, her voice a little strained but otherwise returned to normal. 

“Besides the bruising and some swelling, she’s doing fine,” the nurse replies. “I have to put this in your file now, Ms. Romanoff.” The nurse leaves the room and Steve takes a seat next to Clint who fixes his eyes on Steve.

“What the hell man? Seriously?” Clint asks and his eyes going wide. 

“It’s not Steve’s fault,” Nat says. “I don’t why I never thought to ask about trigger words.” 

“You couldn’t have known,” Steve says. “I’m just glad you’re ok. I knew starting training again after last night would be too soon for him.” 

“No,” Nat says, absently running her fingers over the bruises. “He needed that to happen.” 

“Don’t listen to her, Steve. She’s hopped up on painkillers,” Clint chuckles. His attention falls back to the magazine on his lap. Natasha picks up a paper clip from the table beside her and chucks it at Clint who catches it without even looking up. 

“Bucky needed to revert back to the Asset. That’s how he becomes stronger in his training,” Nat explains. “When Clint first brought me to SHIELD, he did the same thing with me, except his intention from the start was for me to attack him. He knew that that was my goal and if he could stop me from doing it, he’d have the upper hand. It worked too. I trusted Clint because I knew that he was able to stop me.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Steve says stubbornly, even though he thinks he knows what Nat is getting at. 

“I’m saying that Barnes needed to break before he could start rebuilding. In the long run, he’ll be stronger because of it,” says Nat. 

Steve just shrugs because he doesn’t like the idea of Bucky needing to hurt before he can get better. Bucky’s already been through so much that the idea of Steve or anyone else putting Bucky through more hell just for him to come out stronger on the other side is not something Steve likes to consider. 

Nat shifts again to look at Steve directly, accidentally ripping the paper underneath her. “I’m going to talk to Fury tomorrow and I’d like you to come with me, Steve.”

“About what?” Steve asks. Clint sets the down magazine with a newly found interest in their conversation. 

“The upcoming mission with the infiltration of the Black Souls is one of the biggest missions Fury’s taken on since the takedown of SHIELD. We don’t have Thor, Bruce is only doing behind the scenes work, and you’re out of commission.”

Steve doesn’t like what she’s getting at at all whatsoever. “You have Sam.” 

“That makes four of us, including me,” Nat says with a heavy sigh. “We can do a lot of damage with four people, but it’s not enough for a mission this big. We need more help, maybe help with a metal arm and years of training as a Soviet spy.” 

“No,” Steve says. 

“You can’t just flat out refuse, Steve. Natasha has a point,” Clint jumps in. 

Steve shakes his head, “You saw him today, he isn’t ready. He won’t be ready for a long time.” Steve feels sick to his stomach at the thought of Bucky being out on a mission with the Avengers. What if he flips and turns on them or abandons the mission and returns to Hydra? Steve can’t let that happen, especially if he’s not in the field to make sure Bucky is ok. 

“Were we watching the same thing, Rogers?” Nat asks blandly. “He was incredible today, before everything happened. He might not be much of a team player but neither was I. We all learn at some point. Barnes needs to get out there and do some real damage. The Black Souls mission is perfect for that.” 

Steve stands and squares his shoulders, “I’m glad you’re ok, Nat, but I have to go.” 

“Steve, c’mon man,” Clint says and Steve shuts the door rather harshly behind him. 

 

*** 

 

Steve sits on the hardwood floor by the massive window in his apartment that serves as a wall. He has his sketchpad in his lap and about a dozen pencils on the floor to his right. It’s approaching midnight and the last thing Steve feel like doing is sleeping. Watching the sparkling lights of the buildings below him glimmer in the black of night is at least a little distracting from Natasha’s words that are running through Steve’s head over and over again. It’s all he can seem to think about. What she was suggesting was crazy; Bucky going on a mission for the first time since he came to SHIELD when he’s only just starting to get better. Today was proof that he has drawbacks, that his recovery isn’t one progressing, linear line. There’s no way that Bucky can be ready for a mission with the rest of the Avengers. Bucky saunters out of the hallway then and sits down across from Steve. 

“What are you doing up?” Steve asks quietly. 

Bucky shrugs, “Can’t sleep.” He glances down at the sketchpad in Steve’s hand and smiles softly. “What are you worrying about?” he asks. 

“Who says I’m worrying about anything?” Steve says. 

“Stevie, I’ve known you almost your whole life. Just because some of my memories are foggy doesn’t mean I don’t know you. If you’re worried, you stay up and draw,” Bucky says. His eyes light up when he says, “You told me once that drawing is the one thing that you have complete control over. So when you feel like you can’t do anything about the way things are going, you draw, because at least you can do something about that.” 

Steve is almost speechless; he remembers exactly the memory Bucky is talking about. It was during the war when Bucky was thinking about enlisting and Steve wasn’t able to, no matter how many times he tried. He felt like he was losing Bucky and there was nothing he could do about it, so he drew. 

“You caught me,” Steve admits. “I can’t seem to shut off my mind I guess.” He glances down at the blank white paper sitting in his lap. “I can’t seem to draw either. I don’t do it all that often now, it doesn’t come as easily as it used to.” 

Bucky scratches his chin and looks out onto the city. “You can draw me,” he says, then adds quickly, “If you want.” 

Steve smiles, thankful for the dark of the night to hide the growing redness on his face. “Sure, pal.” 

Bucky sits cross-legged, his hands in his lap and he stares at Steve as the smaller man begins to sketch him. For a few minutes, the only sound is the hum of the air conditioning in the apartment and the gentle scratch of pencil against paper. Steve focuses on the general outline of Bucky’s body and head first, before filling in the details. Bucky’s hair is tied up in a loose bun, showing off the angular contours of his face which seem more dramatic in the shadows of the night. Steve takes his time with Bucky’s face, making sure the man’s eyes are filled with real emotion, that his lips are plump in just the same way they are in real life. Bucky only sleeps in pajama pants, so it takes Steve a long time to draw the scars around the other man’s shoulder cuff where metal meets skin as well as the plates of the cybernetic arm where moonlight touches it.

As Steve traces the muscles in Bucky’s stomach with a ball of secret emotion lodged in his throat, Bucky speaks, “So what are you worrying about, Steve?” 

Steve swallows as his pencil traces the low drop of Bucky’s pants. “I went to check up on Nat while you were taking a bath.” It doesn’t take much for Steve to imagine Bucky bathing, soaking in the sweet scent of lavender, body covered in frothy bubbles… Steve shoves the thoughts from his mind and continues where he left off as he traces Bucky’s legs. “She’ll be fine, by the way.” Bucky sighs in relief. “She… she told me that what happened to you needed to happen, that you needed to break so you could… get stronger I guess. She said she’s going to talk to Fury tomorrow about the upcoming mission. You she wants you to go with them.”  

Bucky stares out the window for a few seconds before replying, “She’s right.”

“What?” 

“She’s right, Steve. I needed to break down. I needed last night to happen and I needed to lose it in the gym today. I hate thinking it’s true but she’s right.” Bucky holds his breath in anticipation for Steve’s responds. 

“And t-the mission?” Steve stutters in disbelief, his drawing forgotten.

“I should go,” Bucky replies. “I  _ want  _ to go.”

“Here,” Steve sighs, showing Bucky the portrait and unwilling to talk about this anymore. 

Bucky grins and Steve’s heart skips a beat. “It’s beautiful, Stevie. Thanks.”

Steve can’t help but smile back, his eyes falling to Bucky’s lips. “You’re welcome, Buck. It’s always been easy to draw you.” Bucky slides across the floor until he’s side by side with Steve. 

He points at his eyes on the paper and asks, “How do you manage to capture exactly what I’m feeling?” Bucky meets Steve’s eyes and then they’re  _ so _ close, just inches apart.

“I-I don’t know,” Steve whispers. “Drawing you comes so easily, I don’t ever think about it.” 

“Oh,” Bucky sighs and Steve worries he’s stepped too far. He’s fallen over and he can’t manage to get back up again. They sit in heavy silence for a few seconds before Steve breaks it, his face so warm he’s almost sure he has a fever. 

“You should get back to bed,” Steve says. 

“Right,” Bucky replies and the tension is gone as soon as he stands. Before Bucky turns the corner to the hall across the room he says, “Steve, I know you don’t think I’m ready and I get it. A lot of things have happened to make you feel that way. But I want to go on this mission. Whether you like it or not, I’m getting debriefed with Fury tomorrow. I need this.” 

Steve, still overwhelmed with emotions of all different kinds, breathlessly replies, “If that’s what you want.” 

“It is,” Bucky says. “Night, Steve.” 

“Goodnight, Buck,” Steve says and catches himself before three little words fall from his lips almost automatically. 

Steve knows two things for sure. One, if Bucky goes on this mission, Steve is coming with him no matter what shape he’s in. Two, Bucky can never know how Steve feels.  


End file.
